


Fëanor Finds Out

by Findecutie, MayGlenn



Series: Russ and Finno Verse [6]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findecutie/pseuds/Findecutie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon surprises Maedhros while the eldest Fëanorians are alone in their father's house for the day. The ensuing romantic interlude comes to a sudden, decidedly unromantic, halt as Maedhros' father (focused on a crafting problem he's come to run by his firstborn) wanders into the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fingon arrived at his uncle’s house early in the afternoon. Fëanor was supposed to be gone for the rest of the week- sleeping in the forge while he worked on a project with numerous time-sensitive steps. The youngest siblings were in Tirion with Nerdanel, and Maglor and Maedhros were at the house. He slipped off his horse, and through the door, silently walking the hall. Maedhros was reading on a couch in a family sitting room, and Maglor was plucking halfheartedly at a harp, jotting notes on a sheet of parchment. He looked up and smiled and Fingon, who put a finger to his lips. He wandered over to the cough that Maedhros was sitting on, and, still unnoticed, slung himself into his cousin’s lap in a quick movement. “Russ!”

Maedhros detested these chairs. There was really no way to get comfortable on them. He wanted new ones, but he himself sat in them so rarely (they were usually piled with books and clothes and his brothers) that when they were in Tirion he always forgot to replace them. So now he was sitting awkwardly draped across the arms, holding his book above his head with his neck craned back.

When something slung into his lap, Maedhros froze. He was used to this sort of thing from six little brothers, and did not automatically react in violence, but he opened his mouth to shout "AMBARUSSA!" with no little annoyance, but that was before he looked up to see--

"Findekáno!"

And just like that, his face, his body, the world, everything about him lit up. Sticking his finger in the book to hold his place, he transferred it to one hand before flinging his arms around his cousin and hugging him tightly. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Fingon returned the embrace and leaned in to kiss his betrothed. “I may have heard that you were in a mostly empty house, and thought you might like some company.” He turned himself, and settled with his back pressed against Maedhros’ chest so that both were facing towards Maglor. “How are you both?”

Maglor smiled slightly. “We’ve been enjoying the quiet for a while. Though as much as I’ve wanted some peace to work on a few pieces, I find myself… floundering.” He grimaced. “I think I’ve gotten to used to an inordinate level of ambient noise while I work. Noise that includes screams, crashes, running, and bits of that… cacophony… that Turko calls music drifting through the walls.” He shook his head, looking slightly dismayed.

Maedhros kissed Fingon chastely before eyeing his brother with some suspicion. "So," he said, grinning widely, "You send a secret message to Findekáno as a gift of sorts for me and then complain about it being too quiet in this house." He laughed. "Either you are being rude in insinuating Findekáno and I make similar noises when we are together, or else you are being polite by prefacing your abandonment of us to seek a more amenable composing location with an explanation of your creative process. Either way, Macalaurë," he turned to Fingon once again, and kissed him with more passion this time, "you should get out of my room." But he grinned and winked gratefully at his brother just the same.

Maglor grinned as he teased back, “Dearest brother, there are many things I would do for you. Getting out of this house is something I’ll be doing entirely for myself. I _know,_ most unfortunately, what the two of you sound like, and I’m going to go play my harp as far from here as I can--"

“Is your harp a--" Fingon broke in only to be drowned out by Maglor.

“Harp is not a euphemism! And I just did you a favor-- so no teasing! Russandol, I said I need ambient noise-- not screeching. So Fingon, it was good to see you briefly; I’m sure I’ll see you again at dinner tonight, which I will be back for, in four to five hours, just so you know.” He walked over to lay a kiss on Fingon’s brow and give Maedhros a one armed hug before making his way out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Well then,” Fingon said with a smile, turning to look at Maedhros.

"Thank you, Káno," Maedhros called after Maglor had shut the door to his room. "And thank _you,_ Finno, for coming." He pulled him in for an even tighter hug. "I was just about to throw this book and burn this chair. Macalaurë is right: as much as we complain, we really don't do well without the commotion of the entire family here. It's been three days and already the quiet is killing me. Last night I slept on the couch in Kano's room just to hear something." He shook his head and grinned, then adjusted Fingon on his lap with a groan: "And you're not small enough to fit on my lap for any length of time anymore," he commented.

“There go half a dozen plans I had for our married life,” Fingon quipped, leaning his head back against Maedhros’ shoulder and bringing a hand up to play with his lover’s hair. “I hope you won’t have to worry about quiet boredom for a while. Do you want me to move, Russ? Or are you trying to hint that we should both move?”

"Well, it's this damned chair," Maedhros said quickly, turning and adjusting, sliding Fingon's knees apart so that he was now straddling his waist, kneeling less on him and more on the cushion. "You know I love nothing more than you on top of me," he said as he pressed their noses together. "And if I was hinting anything it would be that you have grown so very much since our betrothal, and that your coming of age draws nearer."

Fingon tilted his head slightly, leaning their foreheads together. “I yearn for it, beloved-- for the day we bond and I can give myself to you wholly.” He closed his eyes and smiled briefly before drawing Maedhros’ in to a slow, leisurely kiss. “I miss you every day,” he murmured. “It is like all light in Aman is dimmed, vanished from where I am because it seeks your presence. And when I am with you I see the world renewed-- the colors brighter, the birdsong more beautiful… but beyond that I miss your presence, our jokes, your teasing, your hands… I shall grow spoiled when we are wed and can have this for weeks on end.”

"I think it is why the silence unnerves me. When I am alone with my thoughts I can do nothing but think of you and ache for you," he whispered in return. "And it's not even been a fortnight since we were out riding together!" he laughed (twelve and a half days to be precise), shaking his head at what a pair they made. "I love you," he said, grabbing Fingon's face with both hands and pulling him into a hard kiss.

“I love you, melda.” Fingon shook his head slightly. “And a day without you is too long.” He sat back slightly, though he draped his arms loosely around Maedhros’ shoulders. “I am yours for the next few days, Russ. So… what shall we do?”

Maedhros marveled at their luck, but did not question it, instead pulling Fingon back against him and immediately latching onto his neck. Not enough to bruise, but just enough to taste him. "We should--we should spend all afternoon just like this," he murmured against Fingon's skin, kissing a trail down his chest.

“I like that idea, melda heru. Though perhaps with less clothing on.” He moaned lightly at the feeling of Maedhros’ teeth on his skin. “Love this,” he murmured, hands carding through Maedhros’ hair. He smiled, and when Maedhros leaned back for a kiss he tilted Maedhros’ head back to bite at his neck in turn, trailing kisses up to his ear and nibbling on the tip. “Love you.”

"Mm, and I love you, melda. As you say," he replies, and began unlacing Fingon's tunic so he could push it down off his shoulders, where Maedhros could bite at the meaty part of Fingon's arm. "Look at these biceps!" he laughed, pulling Fingon's shirt entirely off so he could wrap his hand around the mucle: "Ah, every day you are more and more grown, and I feel more and more wicked for seducing you so young," he teased.

“Seducing me? So young? I think I’m insulted- as I recall, it was I who seduced you!” Fingon laughed, eyes dancing, and ran his hands over the plane of Maedhros’ chest down to his waist and back up. “And I’m glad you appreciate my hroa, Russ, but I’ve still a ways to go before I come anywhere near to you in form.” And, red still tinting his cheeks as he thought of this, he looked down, adding, “I’ll still be your boy, though, when you want me to be.”

Maedhros took a deep, careful breath, as his heart fluttered and he felt slightly dizzy. "Ai, Findekáno," he groaned. "All right, all right, I am wicked. I embrace it now." He tugged at his shirt, pulling it off over his head and tossing it behind him before shoving Fingon's tunic off his shoulders and arms entirely so that it pooled about his waist. "I do not ever want you to match me," he said, fingers tracing shapes of muscles on Fingon's shoulders and chest. "Overgrown and ginger? No, I like you small, and with dark hair that only I can tame." He leaned forward and licked the shell of Fingon's ear: "I still want you to play at my boy when you want to."

“I’m glad,” Fingon said with a shiver. “And you aren’t overgrown. You’re tall, and lithe, and strong. And your hair is gorgeous and all the more beautiful for its rarity.” He stroked along Maedhros’ form, finding far better musculature than he possessed, and Fingon delighted in the sharp intakes of breath he could cause by trailing his fingers over just the right areas. “I think you’re searching for complements, my Russandol, but I’m more than happy to provide them- even your mother’s foresight saw that you would be beautifully shaped, well formed in body. And in spirit as well, I would add.” He leaned down to kiss across Maedhros’ chest. “I simply cannot decide which part of you I like best, so I suppose I shall simply love you as a whole, and worship all parts of your hroa and fëa equally.”

Maedhros chuckled, face flushing red at Fingon's compliments. He could endure the coos and sighs of ladies in court, of comments of nobility about the Well-Formed Finwe the Third all day without batting an eye, and dipping his head in polite thanks--but when Fingon said it his insides melted and he felt vulnerable. "Well--I will do the same with you." He reached back to palm at Fingon's rear, squeezing his thighs, and stealing kisses wherever he could. He rocked his hips against Fingon's, and they both hissed at the friction.

Fingon winked, then slid off the chair, holding his hands out to pull Maedhros’ up after him. They slid together, standing, and Fingon tilted his head up to catch his taller cousin’s lips. “Love, this,” reiterated. Then he took a step back, leaving only their hands touching. “You- you owe me for that stunt you pulled the last time we were riding!” He declared, keeping Maedhros at a slight distance. “I’d almost forgotten; have you any idea how uncomfortable it was to ride in that state? And for hours? I think you’re making a habit of trying to actually destroy all of my breeches. It isn’t very nice,” he added, jokingly petulant.

Maedhros shifted slightly, but grinned. "Bring it on," he challenged, and raised an eyebrow. "I would suffer much to see you squirm like that again, soaked with my seed and your own." He leaned in to nip at Fingon's ear playfully.

Fingon's hips twitched in remembrance, and he moaned lightly before swatting his lover away. "Perhaps we can move to a more… suitable location?" he suggested, already toeing off his boots. He gestured to Maedhros to lead the way, but as his cousin turned, he stepped forward, plastering himself against Maedhros' back and standing on his toes to whisper in his lover's ear. "Really?" he asked softly. "You wish to test me so? Because I do believe I have a perfect… 'punishment' in mind for you, if you are so inclined, melda. Especially after that challenge."

Maedhros snorted, pretending to sound brave and unmoved, but he was very, very moved, and his chest stirred with longing and no little fear. Still, he grabbed Fingon's arms and pulled him over to the bed. "Is this suitable for my punishment?" His voice was teasing, but his hands shook slightly.

“Hmm, perhaps.” Fingon sat him on the bed, holding his shoulders and looking down at him. As he spoke, his thumbs brushed lightly along Maedhros’ collarbone. “Tell me, Russandol, if you are willing to suffer much to see me suffer such indignities, what would you suggest as a means of making it up to me? I think I should like to hear your ideas before I show you mine.”

"I, ah--" This had Maedhros taken aback. He had not thought-- "Well." He squirmed, pausing too long, angry that by this he let Fingon know how much it got to him. He shrugged. "Something similar? I--But I would be ruled by you in this."

“Oh, you will be ruled by me in this, though I would have preferred an actual answer.” Fingon brushed his hand against Maedhros’ cheek momentarily, speaking in a much gentler tone. “Just… tell me if anything isn’t to your liking. Please. Promise me, Russ?” At his lover’s nod, Fingon let his hand drop, stepping back. “Strip.”

Maedhros' eyes dropped to the ground, and he tried to stop grinning (because he was being punished, wasn't he?--except it didn't feel like that: it felt like a game), biting his lip as he slid his leggings down around his ankles until he stood bare before Fingon. "My Lord?" he said, eager for the next instruction.

Fingon looked him over, lips quirking upward in response. “I’m trying to be serious!” he admonished lightly, with a laugh, before schooling his features. “Hmm, I don’t think we’ll need your bed yet. On your knees, if you would. I would have your mouth, first.” He thought back to a night long ago, early in their betrothal. “And, once you’ve started, hands behind your back. Uncross your wrists if you want to stop.”

Maedhros pressed his lips together, but had managed to purge the grin from his features once he dropped to his knees. He nodded at Fingon's instructions, and gripped his left wrist with his right hand at the small of his back. He did not speak this time, and he did not grin again, but met Fingon's eyes steadily and spread his knees out to adjust for Fingon's height. His heart was thundering in his chest and his stomach felt fluttery, but his breaths were steady and calm.

Fingon had unlaced himself, and grabbed a handful of Maedhros’ hair, pulling him forward slightly. “You know what to do, or must I impart step by step instructions here?” He gasped at the first feeling of Maedhros’ mouth around him, and he allowed him to move on his own for a minute before reaching out to hold his head and begin thrusting into him. He started shallowly and slowly, but began working his way deeper, until he hit the back of Maedhros’ throat and his lover was forced to swallow him down.

Maedhros' body made a slight noise of protest at this intrusion, but he wanted none of it. He had almost gotten to where he didn't even gag anymore, and this--he let his eyes slide closed as his mouth, his tongue, lips, and throat working together, instinctively, to bring his lover to pleasure. There were words of poetry he would have liked to speak, perhaps, but this was better. This was--and Fingon had his hands in his hair, both of them, pulling just enough to draw the occasional hiss from him. In the moment Maedhros almost forgot who was being pleasured here and who was being punished, and he swallowed around Fingon, trying to take him deeper, tongue straining to reach as far as it would.

Fingon’s eyes slid shut as he relished the tight, moist heat of Maedhros’ mouth. As he begin to feel himself draw near to his end, however, he pulled back, dragging Maedhros back by his hair when his lover chased after him. “Enough,” he said hoarsely. “Enough, Russ. Stand for me.” Maedhros did as ordered, and Fingon felt his heart rate increase as he looked at his lover’s swollen lips, his arousal, and the flush that had made its way past his face and partway down his chest. “On the bed, on your back, for a moment. You may touch yourself; tell me when you are close.” Fingon followed him onto the bed, but sat to one side of him, hands sneaking out to play gently across his chest and side.

Wait, Maedhros thought, with the blood rushing back to his legs and to his arousal and everywhere but his brain. "But I don't want to stop--" he tried. "You said--my hands--can I uncross them?" When he didn't move quickly enough, Fingon pushed him over to the bed.

“Uncross your hands.” Fingon pushed him to the center of the bed. “And touch yourself. Tell me when you near completion.” He hesitated a moment. “If you wish, you may speak,” he added.

Maedhros took hold of himself--his hand already slick with sweat--he was already hard, already leaking, untouched--he was close now but he knew Fingon wanted to watch--and stroked long and slow and hard from base to tip and back down, hissing as his hand slid over sensitive flesh. "I wish--I wish this was your hand," he whispered, since Fingon said he could talk. "I want to take you in my mouth while you hold me like this, not letting me finish until you have first." He swallowed with difficulty. "I would have you on top of me and beneath me, behind me and before me. I would have you everywhere, for you are my everything." He keened, suddenly. "I--I'm close?" he said tentatively, knowing he could get closer, and knowing this was only the beginning.

“A little more,” Fingon requested, watching Maedhros’ as his breath began to hitch. And finally-- “enough. Hold.” He dropped his hand to his side. Fingon trailed his finger up the length of Maedhros’ arousal. “I could watch you do this all day, beloved,” he stated. “Watch you, and listen to you.” Fingon began to remove the leather tie holding one of his lower plaits in. He wrapped it tightly around Maedhros’ base and secured it. It would be enough to deny him release until Fingon allowed it. He squeezed his cousin once, then moved back to where he had seated himself previously, after catching his lips in a fleeting kiss. “I’m quite liking your ideas, beloved. As you were- please continue.”

Maedhros' mouth fell open in shock, breath catching and never quite starting for what seemed like minutes until Fingon had wound the bit of cord around him and tied it. "Findekáno--" he gasped--whined, even--fixing Fingon with a pleading stare, but Fingon's gaze was hard. Swallowing, he closed his fist again over his sex, twirled one finger over the head, and cried out as the stimulation felt like it was going to kill him if he wasn't able to--he couldn't speak like this, though he tried a few times, spluttering. He squirmed, legs kicking helplessly. And in spite of everything his head was spinning with lust (he didn't want this to stop) and that only made it worse. His hands stalled in their work, and he looked to Fingon for help, his chest going like a bellows. But now he bit his lip, because he wasn't going to beg.

“You’ve been so good, Russ,” Fingon praised, leaning over him and pressing their lips together. He placed on hand on the center of his lover’s chest to hold him down, and with the other gently pushed Maedhros’ hand out of the way stroking once, twice, three times and then following his hand with his mouth and swallowing his lover to the root. He moaned around him, relishing how incredibly hard Maedhros was at the moment. When Maedhros shouted, he removed himself, continuing to lightly tease his lover with the fingers of one hand. “You’re doing well, Russ.” Fingon smiled lightly, “But do you know how many _hours_  you had me in an agony of desire? And every time I started to come down you would--" he broke off, shaking his head with a fond smile.

Dizzy with lust, blind with it, Maedhros keened helplessly, moaning into Fingon’s touches, all his senses overloading and all of them telling him only _Fingon_ and _need_. He tried to speak, but had forgotten all words, as much as his limbs had forgotten how to move, so greatly had Fingon undone him.

“Now,” he stroked Maedhros again, watching the full body shudder it produced. “Perhaps that’s enough for the moment.” He gripped Maedhros’ upper arms and rolled them, so that his cousin landed firmly on top of him while he lay back against the bed. When next he spoke, it was with the formal accent that could sometimes bring his lover to his knees. “You said I should leave you like that until you finish me, yes? And, though I’m not sure I have the stamina you’ve implied, there was something about me being above you, beneath you, behind you, and before you ere this ends.” Which probably wasn’t quite what Maedhros had meant. “Please me, my beautiful Russandol.” He wrapped a hand around the back of Maedhros’ neck and pulled him down into a heated kiss, his own body thrusting up in need. “Pleasure me.” It came out more as a request, a plea, rather than a command, but he doubted that Maedhros cared.

The world spun, or else he had, and now Fingon was beneath him, his lips parting for his tongue. Maedhros took a moment to reorient himself, and drew in a deep breath, and hearkened to Fingon’s words, in that voice, the voice of power and wisdom, worthy of worship and obedience. He calmed—somewhat—and less recognized the words than he desired what they demanded himself. “Th-thank you,” he gasped, and buried his face in the side of Fingon’s neck, kissing, licking, biting, as he took Fingon in hand and stroked him desperately. He had memorized Fingon’s shape, his size, everything, and knew him well, knew what twists and what angles brought him the most pleasure, and he worked so eagerly his hand wanted to cramp, but he did not stop.

Fingon groaned underneath him, dragging his lover down for another kiss. Letting go of Maedhros arm, he snaked his hand down, brushing his fingers against him, and then lower, gripping his sac and rolling it. He gasped and moaned into Maedhros’ mouth, biting and tugging at his lip. There was a danger inherent in a lover who could play his body so well, and he felt passion rising in him with a dangerous speed. “Russ!” He squeezed the hand on his cousin’s neck.

Maedhros whined now, a high-pitched, forlorn sound that startled him as it came forth. "Ai, Finno, have mercy," he whined (not "Stop," never "Stop," if anything it was "Yes more please!"), trying to pull away (but not trying very hard). He sucked at the flesh on Fingon's neck to try to distract himself from Fingon's hands on him, but it was no good. He was going to die without release rutting against Fingon like some animal.

Thrusting into Maedhros’ hand, Fingon shook his head slightly, pressing his forehead to Maedhros’. “Not, not yet,” he whispered. Maedhros’ twisted his hand intensely, almost painfully, and Fingon let out a yelp he would later deny, letting go of his cousin, gripping himself below Maedhros’ hand to stave off his completion. “Fuck! Russ!” He curled back slightly though, pinned between Maedhros and the mattress, his  movement was limited. “W-we we have _hours,_ Russ. Hours till M-Makalaurë gets back. Not ready to end this.” He gently pulled Maedhros hand off him, panting, and instead tangled his hands in Maedhros’ hair, content to just kiss him.

"Hours?" Maedhros repeated dumbly, rearing back. He was going to make this last for _hours?_ And if that was so horrible, so frightening, why did everything slide comfortably into place, why did he feel so safe waiting until Fingon said it was time? He trembled, but nodded into the kiss, threading his own hands through his cousin's hair.

Fingon smiled against him petting his hair gently, and slowly let their desire slowed to a simmer that could be drawn out. “Hours, Russ. If you can--if _we_  can.” He thrust against him slowly, holding him, and impossibly comfortable underneath his lover. “What shall we do next, beloved? Would you pick something for me?” He nuzzled into Maedhros’ neck as he waited for a response, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck.

"I--" Maedhros' mind spun, "let me--um--" he heaved himself up on hands and knees, shaking, and pushed Fingon's legs to his chest. His movements were jerky, everything a reminder of his painful hardness, but he did not touch. Instead he bent his mouth to Fingon's sex, licking his sac before licking down to his entrance, and circling that area with his tongue.

Fingon’s breath caught. He allowed Maedhros to move him, to position him, and he grasped at his legs to hold them where his lover wanted. “Russandol,” he breathed, his tone one of adoration and love. His head dropped back against the bed as Maedhros circled his entrance, and he shook with the intent that was implied. “ValarRuss!” He could only see the top of Maedhros’ head, fiery mane fanning out behind him as he knelt. Fingon bit his lips, wondering if he could withstand this, if it wouldn’t be better to tie himself off as well.

Maedhros' breath ghosted over where he worshipped Fingon as he spoke: "Please, let me see you spend, let me feel you, Findekáno--" he licked a stripe up the length of his sex and fixed him with a stare that was wild and hungry. "Let me taste you."

“Was going… to waitforyou,” Fingon choked brokenly, shaking his head. And he would not ask something of Maedhros when he was unwilling to do the same, to follow him to the slow, torturous peak he had planned. But if Russ wanted otherwise… “If you-- if you want,” he rocked up into Maedhros. He bit his lip on a moan, relaxing slightly as he shook and watched Maedhros move carefully, burning already with denied pleasure. _“_ Pl _ease_  Russ!”

"Aye, Finno, if you would grant me this." And Maedhros swallowed him down to the base, choking slightly but pressing on, as one hungry bolts his food. He slid up and down, losing himself in the rhythm, in the memorized motions, and almost forgot his own pain. Soon Fingon was bucking roughly, and Maedhros sucked down hard, and tasted him, and swallowed him.

Fingon sobbed, dropping his knees and letting his legs fall as he tangled his hands in Maedhros' hair. "Russ!" He begged, pleading as his voice slowly changed to mewls and whines. He could not fight this, could not control this -- even now as Maedhros followed his directions, his plan, he found himself under Maedhros' control, spread willingly below him. "Please!"

It surprised them both when Fingon came, hot and hard in the back of his throat, and Maedhros pulled back just to taste, moaning as he pleasured Fingon through to the end, leaving him breathless, weak and pliant, and smiling, while Maedhros remembered himself, and he was still desperate and needing. He whined slightly, laying himself over Fingon and kissing his neck.

“Fingon wrapped an arm around Maedhros’ sweaty back, and his other hand returned to encircle Maedhros’ throat, squeezing before pulling him in for a lazy kiss. Fingon panted, enjoying the soft noises coming from Maedhros and the feeling of Maedhros thrusting lightly against his stomach. “Valar, Russ- you’re incredible.” They lay like that as he recovered. When Fingon was calmer, he sat up, cradling his lover to him. “Hmm, you chose that, so it’s my turn now, isn’t it? I’d like to do one more thing with you, if I may?” As he spoke he stroked gently along Maedhros’ cheek, brushing back damp locks that were plastered to his skin.

Maedhros was still panting, still dizzy, still tingling all over, but still Fingon's, and he nodded, swallowing hard against Fingon's hand on his throat. His eyes glazed further. "Please," he said, going limp and pliant and very much in love.

Fingon smiled, and touched him gently. He stroked along his arms and chest, eventually guiding Maedhros back down onto the bed. He tucked a pillow under his hips, placing him on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms. Before he moved behind him, Fingon took his cousin’s chin in his hand, drawing him into a soft kiss, and licking traces of himself from Maedhros. “I’m going to taste every inch of you cousin,” he murmured. With a last stroke of Maedhros’ hair, he moved behind him to begin with his shoulders and work his way down.

Maedhros writhed, propping himself up on his knees to take some of the pressure off his aching sex, and keened a steady, quiet note, stopping only when his breath hitched under Fingon's ministrations.

As Fingon drew a particularly needy sound from Maedhros, he moved to a new spot, working is way down Maedhros’ shoulders and back and across his glutes, taking an extra moment to nip at the crease where cheek and thigh met. When he reached his lover’s feet, he kissed the soles and arches, tongue tracing each toe as Maedhros’ feet jerked at the movement. Content with the shivering state he had reduced his lover to, he moved up the bed, rubbing at Maedhros’ back. “Ready to move, Russ? Almost done- I want you again, and I want to see you come undone, beloved. Are you ready for that? Can you get on your knees and your hands or forearms for me?”

Maedhros pushed himself up, trembling all over, limbs jerking like they almost didn't belong to him anymore. His arousal was just a distant ache now, something safe and faraway. His world reduced to Fingon now, and he nodded, now up on shaking knees and elbows.

“Almost done Russ.” Fingon spoke softly, hands tracing along his lover’s sides, arms, chest and stomach. He pushed himself back, opening a jar of oil from Maedhros’ nightstand and wetting his fingers. He spread it across this inside of Maedhros’ legs, pushing them together, and stroked him once with his wet hand. The oil was almost unnecessary for that, as his lover’s arousal had been weeping for some time, and was slick in his grasp. He knelt above Maedhros, blanketing him.

“You’re so good, melda, so beautiful for me.” A gentle kiss was placed between Maedhros’ shoulder blades. “You’re trembling melda. And I desperately want to watch you come apart with me, under me, around me.” One hand was wrapped around Maedhros, tracing his stomach gently as Fingon slid between his thighs. Maedhros had been so close for so long that he dared not touch his arousal before he was ready to untie him. “Soon,” he promised.

Maedhros nodded, breathing harsh. "Yours, yours. I tremble for you--please--" He pressed his head to the bed, rocked back into Fingon as if it would help.

Fingon was hard again, and had been since sometime around the small of Maedhros’ back as he worked his way down his lover’s body. “You do. You tremble so perfectly, Russ. I yearn for you.” He mouthed at Maedhros’ neck as he pushed between his legs, holding himself steady for a long moment before moving. “Melda, my betrothed, will you grant me one last wish, my love? Will you speak to me? I would have your words again ere we finish.” Slowly, he began moving in the slick tightness of his lover’s legs, guiding Maedhros’ to move back against him in counterpoint to his rocking hips. His bracing hand shifted across the bed until he could entwine those fingers with Maedhros’ hand.

Maedhros whimpered, tossing his head back for air. "It--hurts," he gasped, because it was true: "not to have you. Fully." His voice was thick and gravelly, and he hissed every time Fingon brushed against his sex. "Soon, so soon I can taste it, we will be bonded, and I will no longer be mine but yours, as you will be mine. And we will dwell together forever and no power shall tear us apart. T-tenn' ambar-m-metta--" He couldn't keep this up much longer, and suddenly shrieked out: "Findekáno, _please!"_

“Tyë melin, Russ. Tenn' Ambar-metta tye melin!” Fingon almost growled the words, moving faster against him. “Valar Russ. Want this for real. And you in me-- want you above me and inside me and around me. Nelyafinwë, I am yours!” Breath growing ragged, he squeezed Maedhros’ fingers, and his free hand moved down, pulling at the tie that encircled his lover. He shook lightly, and his thrusts were become less even, losing the rhythm that he and Maedhros had developed. “Love you, Russandol. Always and forever. I love you.”

Then several things happened at once. Fingon finished loosing the tie and removing the leather from Maedhros’ engorged flesh. His hips began to stutter as he wrapped a firm hand around Maedhros, who was already racing over the edge. And a sound came from the doorway as something crashed to the ground. Both Eldar looked up in unison, already gasping and moaning and falling into completion, to see Curufinwë Fëanáro standing in the open door, mouth open and some piece of his current project tumbling across the floor.

It was too late when Maedhros heard the crash, and it was definitely too late when he looked up and saw his father, because he had begun spilling the second Fingon released him and was tumbling irreversibly over the edge no matter who was watching. Part of him was glad that Fingon was covering him; another part wanted to shield Fingon from view. And there was no chance for recovery after, none: he was scrambling out from beneath Fingon, pulling a blanket up over Fingon while he grabbed a pillow to cover himself. "Atar!" he cried, chest heaving, legs weak as he tried to stand, holding his arm out in front of him. "Atar, it's not what it looks like. We were--what are you doing in here? Get out of my room!"

Fëanor stood silent, even at this last outburst. His mouth hung slightly open.


	2. Chapter 2

_It was too late when Maedhros heard the crash, and it was definitely too late when he looked up and saw his father, because he had begun spilling the second Fingon released him and was tumbling irreversibly over the edge no matter who was watching. Part of him was glad that Fingon was covering him; another part wanted to shield Fingon from view. And there was no chance for recovery after, none: he was scrambling out from beneath Fingon, pulling a blanket up over Fingon while he grabbed a pillow to cover himself. "Atar!" he cried, chest heaving, legs weak as he tried to stand, holding his arm out in front of him. "Atar, it's not what it looks like. We were--what are you doing in here? Get out of my room!"_

_Fëanor stood silent, even at this last outburst. His mouth hung slightly open._

 

 

"Findekáno, get out of here," Maedhros barked. "Atya," he pleaded, using the name he had not used since he was a child, "say something."

Fingon ignored Maedhros, moving to stand close to him, albeit slightly behind him. He gently touched Maedhros, needing the contact, and with his other hand clutched at the ring hanging upon his chest. He would not, could not, leave Maedhros.

Fëanor remembered to breath as his eldest began talking, but even as he stood dumb with shock, his eyes catalogued his son’s room. Nolofinwë’s eldest had been on top of his son, thrusting, while his son shook and trembled, tied off with a knotted strip of leather. He winced internally at the painful thought. Even worse, however, was the thought of his firstborn yielding himself to a child, and for what? Some sort of learning experience? But that made little sense. He sighed.

“What would you have me say, Nelyafinwë? That bondings are not to be done lightly, nor should they be done with _children_? That I did not raise my firstborn to be tied up and used as a plaything by one of Nolofinwë’s offspring?” He glared at Fingon, though his words were directed at Maedhros. “I came here in broad daylight to get your opinion on a project. I can assure you I had no intention of walking in on the… humiliation of my eldest and the degeneracy of the third generation of my father’s house.” He bit back any further thoughts. “Well-- speak.” The command was sharp, authoritative, and not to be ignored.

Maedhros felt a sharp bite of tears threaten at the edge of his eyes and nose, but he bit them back. "I love him, Atar," he said. That was most important, and the rest came in a flood: "He is my chosen and my betrothed." He gulped, and stepped back, bumping against Fingon as Fëanor advanced on them. "I--I was going to tell you--but--and we are not bonded, not yet, in spite of what you saw. We are waiting until Findekáno is of age that we might honor each other, only--only it is hard to wait. Punish me as you will but don't harm Findekáno--" But as Fëanor continued to advance now Maedhros stood his ground, and threw his hand up in front of him, at Fëanor's eye level. "I wear his ring. He made this for me."

If there was one thing that could stop Fëanor on the warpath, it was a new or unique piece of craft. Words set aside for the moment, he eyed the ring. “Flawed. Here, here, the third band close to the middle…” He pulled the ring off his son’s finger, only for it to collapse in his hand. And Fëanor smiled.

“Who taught you this, Findekáno?” He spun the rings, coming close to righting the piece on his first attempt.

“I-- n-no one, my lord uncle. I just… I wanted something worthy of Maitimo and it… I just made it.” Fingon shrugged helplessly, internally berating himself for the flaws Fëanor was already finding. The things _marring_ Maedhros’ ring.

"Are _your_ prototypes ever perfect, Atar?" Maedhros shot back, and Fëanor looked up, eyes flashing.

When Fëanor lifted his arm Maedhros flinched, but it was only to put a hand on his shoulder. "One prototype was," he said: "and that was you, my son."

Maedhros' mouth fell open. Fëanor dropped the pieces of the ring into his palm. "Now get dressed and cleaned up, both of you, and meet me in the kitchen, and we will talk this over."

As Fëanor made for the door Maedhros still stood open-mouthed and speechless.

Fingon and Maedhros stared at one another for a full minute after Fëanor disappeared. Fingon was the first to move, dropping the sheet and throwing himself into Maedhros’ arms. “Russ,” he whispered, burying his face in his cousin’s neck and hair. “Russ. Betrothed. My future husband. _Russ_.” When he pulled back to look at his cousin, tears were running down Fingon’s face and he was smiling. “We can do this.” He breathed the words, barely able to believe them. “It’s going to be okay.” Maedhros’ arms squeezed him, and his cousin lifted him fully off the ground, spinning him in a circle.

Maedhros clutched the pillow to him like a lifeline, and it took him many moments to realize that Fingon was speaking to him, and a few moments more before his words registered. He had expected to be dead, if not from his father then from mortification at what his father had seen--but he was not dead, and Fingon was still here, and maybe his father would approve of this after all, in spite of his complicated relationship with his half-brother. He was so happy he lifted his cousin off the ground, spinning him, and did not set him down until he had kissed him again.

He laughed nervously, and now his legs were really shaking, and he slid to the floor, dragging Fingon down with him. "Oh, Findekáno!" he whispered, pulling him close, and just held him, heart hammering for a few moments while he kissed away his tears. "Oh, damn it, I'm covered in seed--and so are you!" He reached above him to tug a washcloth from the basin beside his bed, and he wet it and drew it over both of them. "I--I am so sorry. I should have locked the door. I can't believe--" he was on edge, perhaps going to burst into tears or scream at what his father had just seen. His face grew hot.

Fingon gently took his wrist, stilling his hand. “I’m sorry Russandol. If anyone is at fault it’s me-- I started playing a game in your sitting room and didn’t think to lock that door, I kept this going as long as we did, I-I Valar Russ, I’m so, so sorry. Your father should never have seen you like that.” He rubbed at Maedhros arm. “Are you truly alright? You weren’t hurt, were you? We were… for quite a while… and you-“ his voice tapered off and he dropped his head. “Please forgive me.”

"Don't apologize!" Maedhros snapped, pulling Fingon into an irresistible embrace. "I'm not sorry for that! And no, you didn't hurt me. I might have stayed--where I was--like that--under your power, I mean, for--for hours, and have been content." He growled and kissed Fingon roughly. "Instead I feel as if I've been awoken too early from a pleasant dream. But--" he stood, now, pulling Fingon up with him, "my atar has been waiting too long. Here, here's your tunic..."

“Thanks, Russ.” Fingon pulled on the garment, and stood in front of a large mirror to try to tuck strands of his hair back into place. He twisted the silver ring on his hand, and, boots and breeches on, prepared to head out the door. When Maedhros joined him, he turned to his love, leaning in for a quick embrace and one final kiss. “I love you. Forever.” Maedhros squeezed him tightly, and then they both headed for the kitchen.

Fëanor had his back to them, and was sitting at the head of the long wooden table that was where the family took informal meals (the larger table was only used when they had guests, and in lieu of guests was usually littered with various projects). Fëanor was drinking some sort of clear strong liquor, and he had two empty cups beside him. Maedhros moved to sit at his father's right hand, and Fingon sat across from him at his left.

There was a long silence, which Fëanor did not attempt to break: Maedhros recognized this tactic as one used to get him to confess. It always worked on him, at least when it was either of his parents. "I'm sorry we did not tell you. We were going to--"

"How long?" Fëanor demanded, pouring a half dram for each of them.

"S-seven years," Maedhros answered immediately.

Fëanor downed his cup at that response and quickly poured another. The look he gave them was less than pleased. “I _should_ … I do not even know what. Probably inform Nolófinwë what his child is up to-“ he raised a hand to quell their protests. “I’m hardly likely to do that, am I?” He sighed, considering. “Who knows?”

“Makalaurë and Turko, Irissë, Moryo. Oh, and grandfather,” Fingon contributed. “Though they didn’t find out in that order.”

"Atar knows?" Fëanor repeated. "And he didn't tell me?" He sounded hurt.

"He was going to," Maedhros said. "And Nolófinwë. Before we were bonded, he was--we were going to tell you. But Findekáno was so young--"

"Still is under the age of majority," Fëanor corrected.

"Yes. Which is why we--ahh, we have not--"

"All right, spare me the details, I'm already going to have a headache in the morning," Fëanor said, swallowing another mouthful with a hiss. "Findekáno, let me see the ring Nelyo made for you."

Fingon held out his hand, and at a gesture from Fëanor handed over the ring. He watched his uncle’s eyes widen slightly.

“You've been so serious growing up, Nelyo. Sometimes it is hard to believe you are related to Turko and Ambarussa. But then, at times like this...,” Fëanor murmured. “I remember this ring.” He handed it back to Fingon, having no further need for it. “Very well, you two. What are your plans? When will you be bonded? How did Atar find out, and what was his reaction?”

“We’ll be bonded the day I reach my majority,” Fingon replied. “We spend time together as we can for now. Grandfather-- erm-- walked in on us kissing in his library.” Fëanor raised an eyebrow as both Fingon and Maedhros blushed lightly. “And as for his reaction-“

"He supports our union--I think because he would like to force you and Nolófinwë to get along better," Maedhros answered with a small grin. "He is very--comfortable discussing, ah, carnal matters. He pracically mandated that we enjoy ourselves, short of bonding."

"I think he just likes teasing you, Russ," Fingon pointed out. "Your face does the oddest things once we reach the fifth or sixth round of innuendos." He sighed. "But yes. He is very… comfortable discussion things. Especially if we've caused him to loose sleep."

Fëanor raised an eyebrow as Maedhros flushed. "That sounds very much like atar. All right. Drink, drink," he ordered, waving at the glasses and topping everyone off. "But really, _only_ seven years ago? You two always were—close. I would have thought—"

"ATAR!" Maedhros shouted, scandalized.

Fëanor laughed and put his elbows on the table. "Fine. I suppose I need to find another craft to teach him so he can spend the summer here, then. I think ring-forging, don't you, Nelyo?"

Fingon looked across at Maedhros, nodding his head slightly. Though the question had not been addressed with him, he would gladly spend time working with his uncle- with his future father in law. Particularly if doing so gave him reason to spend more time with Maedhros. And, while such studies would doubles be taxing, irritating and painful… he had said he wished to improve himself, to grow closer to Maedhros in stature and skill, and what better way to do so than by learning from the best- from Maedhros’ own teacher.

“Don’t insult him, Atar,” Maedhros said, laying his hand over Fingon’s. “His ring-forging is fine. Don’t you think he could advance to gem-cutting or something that might take half a year rather than a few months?” His grin was broad and self-indulgent, even bold, the way Celegorm looked at mother when he got away with something by father’s permission.

Fëanor huffed. “All right. I was just about to start Moryo on that.” Then he wrinkled his nose in exaggeration. “This of course means I have to speak to my half-brother. What’s in it for me?” Now his eyes sparkled playfully.

“Another pair of hands around the forge and on whatever projects you require or could use an assistant for,” Fingon replied promptly. “And an opportunity to get better acquainted with your future son-in-law outside of formal events? I’d truly appreciate any guidance or assistance you can give in my crafting and general knowledge,” he added seriously. “I wish to improve myself and my work, and if you are offering I could have no better teacher.”

Fëanor huffed. “Don’t, even try that. Your father used to do that.” He waved his hand vaguely, trying to indicate Fingon’s gratuitous complements and what seemed like an attempt to butter him up. He took another drink, staring at his glass contemplatively. “This will _kill_ Nolófinwë,” he murmured into his drink with a smile. Then he looked back to Fingon. “Work hard, pay attention, _study_ , and you will have a place here.” Fingon nodded earnestly. “And even if you wish to focus on gems,” here he gave Maedhros a quick glance, “I’d appreciate some time discussing my firstborn’s ring, your creative process, and what adaptations of that design you can come up with. In fact, that work should progress quite naturally into jewel craft.”

A laugh of pure joy bubbled up in Maedhros' chest, and he had to swallow it back down for fear of appearing addled. He squeezed Fingon's hand. "You know my gemcraft isn't quite as good as it could be, either, Atar," he said slyly.

"That is because you are a perfectionist worse than your atar," Fëanor replied with a grin. "No, you'll not be in the apprentice forge more than I can help it, and you'll certainly not be found anywhere near Findekáno's work station. Whatever you two get up to on your own time is one thing, but I will _not_  have you distracting him from his work."

Maedhros grinned shyly. "Yes, atar."

"Same goes for you, Findekáno."

“Yes, uncle.”

“And if you are living here for months, you will have lessons in more than crafting. I think language, artistry, forensics, history, logic, cartography, engineering, philosophy … and we’ll see about what else seems most pertinent as time passes and add more topics based on that, and any particular interests you have.” Fingon stared at him for a moment. This was… nothing like the way he and his siblings had been taught. But he fairly certain that all seven of his cousins had been taught, were being taught, and would continue to be taught, like this- numerous topics linked together in some subtle fashion that his uncle highlighted. And never a focus so narrow that it wrote out all other areas of study.

“I-I’d like that very much, uncle,” he said, smiling at Maedhros.

"As would I," Maedhros agreed. "But Findekáno is not some rough untutored commoner," he continued, disliking his father's tone. "He is learned already in his own right, and a quick study."

"How else did you think I planned to teach him so much in so short a time?" Fëanor responded, and Maedhros bowed his head. 

Then Maedhros lifted up his head and without warning, leaned across to throw his arms around his father's neck. "Thank you, Ata."

Fëanor put an arm around his son’s shoulders and stretched the other to pull Fingon in closer and squeezed gently, before leaning back and pouring each of them another drink.

When Maglor returned, it was to sounds he didn't expect: to raucous laughter, and clinking of plates. As he set her harp down and moved to the kitchens, there was a terrific crash and then another bout of laughter. Maglor rounded the corner and: "What are you doing?!" He demanded, more alarmed than anything. Fëanor was on his hands and knees trying to collect dried pasta out of the pile of glass. "Atar did it!" Maedhros accused, who was listing against the stove stirring a messy pot of some kind of sauce. Fingon was in the corner dying of laughter.

“Káno!” Fingon jumped up, swaying treacherously as he stumbled to Maglor and threw his arms around his neck. Maglor reached out to steady him. “Uncle has said I can marry your brother!” He enunciated each word slowly, clearly, and much louder than was necessary. Fingon grinned, then stumbled and started to fall. Maglor, head whipping around to stare at Fëanor after Fingon’s declaration, barely caught him. He carefully ushered Fingon into a seat before turning to deal with his older brother and father, noting that though Maedhros appeared ready to tumble into his pot, what he was cooking _did_ sell unbelievably enticing, particularly unbelievably given the inebriation of the Elda making it.

"Atar, Atar, stop. Let me do it, you're going to cut yourself!"

"I'll have you know, boy, that I've been drnuk since before you were born!" Fëanor protested, but sat by contentedly as Maglor cleaned up the mess.

" _I'm_ nnnot drunk Macalaurë," Maedhros insisted. "I'm juss watching the pot."

"Valar help me," Maglor sighed, as he pointed out an enticing-looking chair to his father, who immediately crawled toward it.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” Maglor asked hesitantly. Fingon opened his mouth to answer, and Maedhros lost all interest in the pot, moving as quickly as he could to Fingon’s chair and wrapping a hand over his mouth. Fingon tried to speak around it, though the sounds that emerged were muffled and told Maglor far less than his brother’s insistence on silencing him.

“SEX.” The younger Eldar turned as one to face Fëanor, who waved at the others as he looked at Maglor. “All I wanted was a sounding board for an idea. And I walked into sex.” He seemed somewhat perturbed by that, though far less than Maglor was at present.

"It was an accident," Maedhros insisted, as if he had just fallen into bed with Fingon, and all three of them burst out laughing. But at least from here Maglor could manage supper. "What did you all drink?" He wondered, a smile playing at his lips.

“A lot.” Fingon called from beneath Maedhros’ hand. Maedhros simply pointed at the table.

“Two bottles,” Fëanor added. “Accident.” He snorted. “I wonder what your grandfather would think about _that_.”

Maglor sighed, lowering the flame under the sauce and successfully pouring a different jar of pasta into the boiling water. “You are all going to regret this in the morning. I’m going to regret this in the morning,” he bemoaned. “And I don’t need details, Atar. Please spare your poor, innocent son.”

“Innocent- they’re not bonded, but you wouldn’t believe what they get up to.” Fingon succeeded in freeing himself from Maedhros, but slid to the ground as he did so.

“See, Russ! ‘s not _me_ talking you should be worried about.”

“I resent that.” Fëanor looked down at his nephew and over at Maedhros. “And after what I saw, I have every right to commiserate with Káno or tease you about it- Valar, I’ve just turned into Atar, haven’t I.”

In spite of everything, Maedhros giggled at that last bit, pulling Fingon to him as they tumbled to the floor laughing. "Atar, what--what--I'm almost afraid to ask this--" He was way too drunk for this. "At what point did you walk in?"

Fëanor gave him a Look, and Maglor could not be certain if the light flush to his cheeks was from drinking or from what he was remembering his son doing. “I thought you were injured.” Each word was uttered staccato, as Fëanor tried to keep his voice precise and flat. “Then you started talking, Nelyo. And I wandered in on both of you.”

“On?!” Fingon laughed, imagining that.

Fëanor grimaced. “Well, not _on_. I wandered into the room. I hope to never see a child of mine in that position again. And… Eru help me…” Fëanor took a deep breath and continued quickly, “Please be careful while you’re trying more adventurous things. I doubt either of you want to be dragging your other half before Este because one of you has wound up in need of actual healing.” Fingon had snorted and begun giggling at the statement about his children, and gasped out something to do with Celegorm, which had both Maedhros and Maglor laughing .

“You… you don’t want to know, Atar,” Maglor informed him, and in this case Fëanor trusted to his judgment.

"I said, not as adventurous as Tyelko!" Maedhros giggled, before Fingon clapped a hand over his mouth and they wrestled on the floor before: "Maglor?" He said, staring up at his brother with Fingon on top of him. "Ithink mdrunk."

“I’m quite sure you are,” Maglor sighed. Fingon leaned down to plant a kiss on Maedhros, sprawling across him.

“This’s nice, Russ,” he mumbled. “You’re more comf’ter’ble than a bed.”

"All right you idiots, yes I mean you, Atar, sit at the table. Food is almost ready."

"Oohh will you be serving us, Káno?" Maedhros asked, before turning to Fingon and pointing at himself. "I made that. I willlmmake a goood house-man. Feed you nice and fat."

"All right, Nelyo, you're going to marry him, not eat him--okay, forget I--" but they had already dissolved into laughter. "Just get on the chairs," Maglor said wearily pouring tall glasses of water and serving plates.

“But I don’t want ‘t be fat!” Fingon leaned back, raising his shirt and poking at his stomach experimentally. “I should be strong and slender like you. And we’ll have adventures!” Fëanor, standing to move to the table, choked and hunched over in a coughing fit. Maedhros appeared to be enjoying the view as his betrothed, sitting aside him, swayed back and forth prodding at himself. Fëanor carefully made his way to the table and sank into a seat with a grateful sigh, sipping at a glass of water. Maglor stood Fingon up, moving him, and then Maedhros, to either side of Fëanor.

"Uugghhh Macalaurë," Maedhros protested. "I wanna sit with Finnooooo," he said, and promptly fell off his seat.

"Damn it, Nelyo!" Maglor cried, but Fëanor removed himself from the bench seat, "So the two drunk lovebirds can sit next to each other," and staggered around to the other side.

Maglor sighed and served them anyway. "Drink," he ordered.

They ate quietly, and after several glasses of water (and a cold glass pressed to his forehead), Fingon began to feel more like himself. “Uncle… what was in that bottle?” He was still leaning against Maedhros, but the world had stopped spinning and he was remembering enough to be more than slightly embarrassed by his… and everyone’s… actions.

“Better than you not know,” Fëanor replied, and his children looked at him sharply.

“Plausible deniability?” Maglor asked. At his father’s nod, he sighed. “Please, Atar, please, please, please keep it away from Turko and Moryo.”

"Ohh, that was your experiment, wasn't it?" Maedhros groaned at his father's distillation projects, holding his dizzy head in his hands. "Maglor, I am so sorry. I may still throw up."

"Eat your pasta, son."

"I know how to my handle alcohol, atar."

"Oh, sorry, my mistake. I was basing that on how you were handling Findekáno--"

"Atar!"

"--by which I mean he was handling you!" And Fëanor, apparently still drunker than the rest, guffawed while the others stared in horror. "Oh, Valar, I hope I don't remember this in the morning."

"I hate all of you," Maglor said.

“You weren’t the one who walked in on light bondage,” Fëanor pointed out, quite reasonably in his opinion. Maglor blanched.

"I, ah--" Maedhros stammered. "Okay, yeah, that happened." He flushed, but pointed a finger at Fëanor. "But don't think I haven't found yours and mother's...toy chest!"

It was Fëanor's turn to pale.

"It was that one time Maglor had me go in looking for his begetting day presents, and I--I didn't know what they were at the time..."

"WHY are we talking about this?!" Maglor demanded, pouring the almost empty bottle of liquor into his goblet.

“Because your brother doesn’t know how to lock doors.”

“That may have been my fault a little. Apologies, everyone.” Fingon refused to meet anyone’s eyes and focused on trying to drink enough water to help him deal with the amount of alcohol in his system. He debated asking Maedhros about these ‘toys’, but decided he’d rather not know, as he couldn’t imagine enjoying using anything that brought with it strong memories of Fëanor and Nerdanel’s love life. “Uncle? I wasn’t expecting you here, and I’d rather not go home so soon. I’d like to stay with Russ for the next few days, if that’s alright-”

Fëanor gesture to him to stop talking. _“Don’t_ wake me up in the middle of the night; don’t traumatize Kanafinwë. Other than that, have fun.”

"Thank Valar my room is at the other end of the house. Grandfather says Russandol has quite a pair of lungs."

Fëanor nudged Fingon. "You know I can also teach you how to make a very effective gag..."

"Atar," Maedhros ground out, and put his head in his hands.

"All right, all right," Fëanor said, lurching to his feet. "I'm going to go be drunk in my own forge. Thank you and good night."

Fingon gave his cousins a slightly worried look. “Um… I know he’s Fëanáro, but… will he be okay, in a forge, like that?” Maglor rolled his eyes.

“He’ll be fine, Findekáno. No need to worry about him.”

“Shall we adjourn to a sitting room, or should we turn in for the evening?” Fingon looked to both cousins for a response. “Oh-- and Kano, did you do anything interesting this afternoon?”

"I’ll tell you in the morning, if you still care." Maglor answered, waving them away. "Now, if you just get out of my face and don't die, I'll clean up in here, go. Wait." He filled a pitcher of water. "Take this." Maedhros held it carefully with two hands, nodding solemnly (and leaned into his brother as a thank-you hug), before staggering back to his room.

Fingon hugged Maglor goodnight and followed after Maedhros. Shutting (and locking) the outer door to his cousin’s suite, Fingon found himself slouching, relaxing in a way different from the alcohol induced stupor. Better, if he were honest. “Russ.” He shook his head and smiled, leaning back against the door. “Valar, Russ. I was not expecting this when I came over- I just wanted to surprise you.”

Maedhros laughed, welcoming Fingon into his arms after setting down the pitcher, and they swayed together for a few moments. "I am glad, Findekáno," he said, "even for this. And I am always glad for your company." He kissed his brow. "It is better than my father knows."

“Tyë melin, Russ. And… I’m very glad that he approves. That he’ll help us, and have me over, and even teach me.” He kissed Maedhros lightly. “I’m sorry we were interrupted, though, and that you were embarrassed, and that we had to sort the situation out as we did. Still- both he and grandfather have given their blessing. And that is wonderful.” Fingon sighed against his cousin, then straightened with a thought. “I have something for you! And I forgot entirely.” He knelt to dig into his bag, set against the wall when he had first arrived and snuck up to Maedhros. “Just something silly,” he added, holding his hands behind his back as he returned to Maedhros.

"We are indeed blessed," Maedhros answered, and then brightened as he moved to sit on the bed, pulling Fingon toward him. "What is it?" He asked, grinning foolishly.

“I warned you, something silly.” Fingon held out a grass crown, made of of golden reeds intricately interwoven with small blue and red flowers. “I saw them while riding over- a field with colors that made me think of us, and it’s a long ride and… I got bored? You can throw it out, I just saw the colors and-” he shrugged. “You should wear it first, though,” he added with a small smile.

"Oh, Finno!" Maedhros cried, placing the crown on his head. "It fits perfectly! But I have nothing for you--unless--well, it's meant to be your begetting day gift...well, a sort of jest gift, really--" But he was drunk and he was going to go through with this, and he pulled a tunic and leggings from his wardrobe. They were entirely sheer, made of black fabric. "Maybe tomorrow..." he said.

Fingon felt lightheaded as he looked at the mostly transparent, pooling fabric. He swayed, and leaned against the back of a chair. “Russ,” he groaned. “You undo me. And without so much as a touch. It really isn’t fair, you know.” He moved towards him, slipping a hand under Maedhros’ tunic and leaning against him. “Tomorrow,”’ he agreed. “For now, will you take me to bed, beloved?”

"Mm," Maedhros said, grasping Findekáno's shoulders and pulling him into a hungry kiss. "You would have had to beat me off with a stick. I really have had too much to drink. And I am wearing a flower crown!" He giggled, then patted Fingon on the backside. "Go get ready for bed. Clean your teeth, wash your face, I have some sleeping clothes you could... _not_ wear," he added with a teasing grin.

“As my princes wishes.” Fingon bowed lightly, dug into his bag for his traveling pouch, and wandered into Maedhros’ washroom. After a day of traveling and… exercise, he removed and folded his clothing, and scrubbed down lightly. He had two flowers in his bag leftover from Maedhros’ crown- a red, and a blue, and he tucked these behind one ear. Leaving his travel clothes on the chair, he wandered out in search of a warm bed and his warmer cousin.

"Oh, now we match," Maedhros said, pulling Fingon into a warm embrace and kissing him. "Well, almost--would you wait for me?" He stood, wobbling, and leaned on Fingon. "Would you pleasure yourself for me, while you waited?"

Fingon nodded and stole another kiss. “I left my travel clothes on the chair- I’ll take care of them in the morning.” He flopped onto Maedhros’ bed, luxuriating in the soft feel of the mattress and sheets. He sprawled out in the middle, closing his eyes and thinking of that afternoon. He brought a hand to himself, lazing stroking his awakening desire while he waited for Maedhros to return.

"I like seeing your clothes in my room without you in them!" he called playfully before shutting the door behind him. He cleaned himself and his teeth and tossed his clothes in the hamper before tossing Fingon's after his: he would be staying long enough for laundry to be done, or at least now he would have to. He emerged quickly, and smiled on Fingon at his task, feeling himself respond. "May I help?" he asked, and crawled up onto the bed over him, stealing a few kisses on the way up.

“Do you really need to ask that question?” Fingon smiled, raising his head to meet Maedhros for a kiss before falling back. “Anything you want,” he added with a smile. “This is- I still can’t believe this.” He laughed, wrapping his free arm around his lover. “I am truly, perfectly happy right now. And I love you.”

"I can scarcely comprehend it," Maedhros giggled, resting his hand over Fingon's, stroking his lover firmly, and he kissed his neck lovingly. "Of all the bliss of Aman, you are the one source of all my happiness, melda heru. Your touch and your love, your joy and light. You are my greatest gift," he sighed.

Fingon shivered at his words and his hand. “As you are mine.” He stroked over Maedhros’ head and down his back, content to let his lover do as he wished. “Love, this Russandol. And I like being in your bed.” He grinned. “I could get used to this.”

"Mm." Maedhros grinned, hugging Fingon close as he continued to pleasure him. "We'll have to sleep in the guest bedrooms just to keep up appearances, for the housekeeper at least." He put Fingon's hand on his own sex now, and for a while this groaned and sighed against each other, their movements slow and thorough, while Maedhros licked and nibbled across the expanse of skin from shoulder to lips.

“Mmm. Melda.” Fingon moaned, unable to reach Maedhros with his mouth. Their arms brushed against one another as they moved, and he found himself entirely covered, blanketed by Maedhros’ larger form. “’s nice.” He tugged at Maedhros hair just hard enough to make his breath catch. They worked one another quietly until Fingon, thinking back on the evening, began to worry slightly about Maedhros’ swaying steps as they made their way into bed. “Russ? Are you still a little drunk, or are you all here with me?”

Maedhros thought carefully about this. "Uhmm--a little," he admtted shyly, pulling back. "But not so much that I won't remember _this_ ," he squeezed Fingon, "come morning. But--is--is that all right?" he faltered.

Fingon nodded. He stroked over Maedhros’ face gently with one hand. “Of course. We’ll just need to remember to have a bit more water before we turn in for good.” He blushed slightly. “I probably need to drink another glass as well. Though at least we weren’t as far gone as *others* at dinner.” He gasped at an unexpected movement from Maedhros’ hand, and squeezed a bit harder on his next stroke in retaliation.

"Agh, damn it, Finno," he laughed, pressing his head to Fingon's shoulder. "I'm never going to get that out of my head!" He was still drunk enough that it was funny, but, "If I ever have performance issues, you can blame my father," he said, and shuddered, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“Ugh. Russ!” Fingon complained. “I made a vague allusion to dinner. I didn’t directly bring up your father. You did that.” He shuddered, the movement shifting their bodies together, and gasped at the friction the movement generated. He added a quarter turn to the end of his next stroke, and smirked at Maedhros. “You don’t seem to be having any performance issues right now, cousin. And don’t worry- I won’t ask Uncle for help designing a gag. I _like_  to hear you when we’re together.”

Maedhros' face heated where it rested against Fingon's neck, and he snorted rather ungracefully. "I imagine I would be aroused and delighted by anything you did to me," he said noncommittally, and hissed as Fingon twisted his hand. "Ahh-hhngghh," he groaned, kissing Fingon sloppily. "I love this, love taking my time with you, F-Ffinno, ahh--" he said, losing coherancy. "Love you," he moaned.

“And you.” Fingon’s moans and gasps mingled with his lover’s. “Want to please you, to be everything you’ve ever wanted.” He laughed lightly against Maedhros, dragging his mouth back down for a long kiss. “A tall order, I know. But I will try. I think my greatest wish is to have you pleased and pleasured, content and blissfully happy, and with all that you want in life coming true around you.”

"Ai, Finno," Maedhros sighed, and deepened the kiss. "You already are everything I could ever want." They shared each other's breath for a time, panting, moving, thrusting, until, "Fin, I'm close--just--" he tried backing off, but it was no use. He wanted this to last forever, but he had already waited too long last time, and he was too drunk for stamina to enter into it, and he was so desperately in love. "Together, as always," he demanded.

“Always, melda. Together.” Fingon tightened his hold in Maedhros hair. “With me, Russ. Pleeease.” He gasped as Maedhros changed his rhythm, determined to pull Fingon over the edge with him. They pressed together, tongues sliding in mimicry of what their bodies desired. Fingon sighed as he tumbled over the edge, softly this time, and without all of the teasing that had occurred this afternoon. The feeling was no less strong, however, and he clung to Maedhros, wanting to be connected with him, and to drift down with him this time- to finish with Maedhros above him and around him and their harsh breaths mingling as their hearts slowed and their bodies relaxed.

As Maedhros followed his lover over the edge, he was in a haze of desire and warmth and love--everything was Fingon: his warmth, his scent, Maedhros could almost touch his fëa, they were so close. He wondered if this was what being bonded felt like, and now it was easy to question why they were waiting at all. But it passed quickly enough, and he opened his eyes on blue eyes and dark hair and kissed-pink lips, and he smiled, tangling their limbs together. "Don't move," he begged, pulling the edge of the blanket up over them. "Sleep like this," he murmured, face pressed against Fingon's shoulder.

Fingon considered the pitcher of water they should still be drinking from, and the fact that they would surely wake up filthy and stuck together, and yet this was so perfect… He sighed, pressing his lips to the top of Maedhros’ head. “Yes, just like this,” he agreed, letting the last bit of tension drain from his limbs. He draped his spare arm around Maedhros’ lower back, holding them together. He could smell Maedhros scent, and felt his own heartbeat changing to match his lover’s rhythm. He was weighed down by his lover, grounded by him, and to Fingon it felt as though Maedhros were the entire universe. His eyes slid shut as he let his thoughts drift.

 

Maedhros woke still on top of Fingon. He could feel where they were stuck together with sweat and seed, but it didn't matter. He was waking in his own bed with Fingon, and in such an intimate position, and with such closeness, and to be honest he wasn't sure how Fingon hadn't suffocated in the night. He was facing away, resting on the pillow beside Fingon's head, but now he turned his head so he could watch Fingon sleep just before his eyes, breathing softly, head tilted back. He didn't move for long minutes, content to watch his lover sleep, and as the light grew brighter, begin to stir. It was a beautiful sight, and he would count himself fulfilled just to wake to this every morning.

Fingon woke slowly, feeling weighted down and content. Blinking, he wondered where he was for a brief moment before recognizing Maedhros’ ceiling, and Maedhros above him. A glance to the side showed his lover already awake and watching him. “Mornin’ Russ,” he croaked, before wetting his lips and swallowing several times. “Did you sleep well?”

"I slept on the finest pillow in all Arda," he said, smiling. "I--I can move if you want me to," he offered, shifting slightly.

Arms wrapped around Maedhros immediately to stay him. “Please don’t,” Fingon protested quietly. “You are… comfortable.  Comforting. I very much like having you on top of me.” And he was already blushing lightly at how true that statement was and at Maedhros’ pillow comment. “I slept better than I have in weeks, and I could stay like this all day.”

"Good," Maedhros hummed, arms sliding up beneath the pillow as he stretched out over his cousin. "Because so could I." He leaned in for a kiss, taking his time with it. "Though I think we might show our faces eventually. Only not yet," he said, nipping at Fingon's lower lip.

“We are agreed, then.” Fingon flicked his tongue out to tease at Maedhros’ mouth as his cousin nipped at him. “We should probably spend a bit of time with Kano, and certainly with your father if he is around. Or do you think he will be avoiding everyone after yesterday?”

Maedhros chuckled. "My father is Fëanáro Curúfinwë. Do you really think he has any shame? No, he'll be about. I apologize in advance if he...focuses on you. He does that." He kissed Fingon's neck.

“Russ… he approved. He can treat me any way he wants,” Fingon said sincerely, hand stroking up Maedhros’ back. His other hand found his cousin’s and joined with it, playing with the ring on his finger. “Ugh. Kano will have words for me, though. Then again, I don’t think we drank nearly as much as Turko’s crowd does on a ‘party’ night.”

"No, but I think Káno doesn't care so much about them," Maedhros said, flushing. "I'll make him his favorite stew tonight. And pie to make up for it. You can help, if you like.”

“Of course. When I have the opportunity I’ll rarely choose not to be by your side.” He snuck his leg around his lover’s, further tangling them together. “Of course, at times like this I also like to be under you, or over you, or before you, or behind you…” He smiled cheekily at Maedhros, leaning over to press their lips together.

"Oh, hush, you," Maedhros laughed, talking through the kiss and pulling back. "You know I can't be held accountable for things I say in passion. Well, some things." He paused. "Okay, never mind, it's all true, every word," he laughed, and attacked Fingon's mouth with his. "I suppose the only real truths are the ones you wrench out of me, truths no one else can here," he chuckled. "Oh, listen to me," he scoffed and rolled to one side, pulling Fingon with him so they still lay chest to chest, and kissed him again.

Fingon groaned into the deeper kiss, smiling against Maedhros’ lips as they broke for air. “Good morning,” he said, unable to stop grinning. “A very good morning. And Russ? What I tell you is true as well. And I do want what you want- and soon we will be bonded and your desires shall be mine and mine yours in an even deeper way, if such a thing is possible.” He closed his eyes for a moment at the thought, dreaming of that connection they had yet to share. “We’re so close, Russ. And yet the day seems so far away.” He pressed as closely to Maedhros as he could.

"I know, I--" Maedhros huffed. "Don't laugh, but I almost felt it. Last night. I felt--you. But maybe I was just drunk."

“I’m not laughing, Russ. I wouldn’t. We know each other so well already, and I can read your body better than I’d ever dreamed, at times I can almost feel you, and yet… I think there’s something more, something that’s yet to come.” Fingon huffed, and shrugged. “Ignore me. I suppose I’m being a hopeless romantic- and don’t you dare repeat that to anyone.” He pressed his lips to Maedhros’, humming as he thought. “Last night was good for you? That was… I like doing everything with you, but last night was wonderful.”

Maedhros nodded, squeezing his arms around Fingon. "I thought you might stop when I admitted I was drunk, or something. I--don't ask me why, perhaps if you were concerned about my consent, as if you could be after--" he chuckled and shook his head. "Last night was perfect. And I was already giddy because of what atar said. Well, some of what he said." He flushed at the memory. "I...think I was hoping I would remember less than I do."

Fingon felt his face heating. “Don’t remind me. How will I look him in the eye today? Or Kano.” He sighed, hiding his face against Maedhos’ neck for a minute. “I suppose it is my own comeuppance for drinking as much as I did.” He pulled back as he mulled over Maedhros’ previous comment. “I was still a slight distance from sober last night. I would never intentionally… take from you that which was not freely given. For my part though, for future reference, unless I say otherwise you can assume I am willing.”

"Same for me, of course, and always," Maedhros grinned, nuzzling Fingon's cheek, stretching and wriggling to find a new and comfortable position. His legs were telling him he had been abed too long and he was getting restless, so he sat up. "Are you hungry, yet?" he asked, leaning over and pouring a cup of water, drinking some, and then handing it to Fingon.

“Thanks,” he said, draining the glass. “I could eat.” Fingon moved, and winced. “First though-- I need to rinse off. As much as I like the idea of walking around covered in our mingled essences I’m… dry, cracking, and in some spots still slightly sticky.” His nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Ah--well, I would offer to lick it off, but that may well lead to other things, and we shouldn't be late for breakfast." Maedhros winked and slid out of bed, going to the washroom. "I wish I had a bath in here--though there is a showerhead...if you would like to join me?" He raised his eyebrows playfully. "Though I imagine that may have the same problematic result."

“I’ll join you with the plan of saving time and water. I something else happens… well, it wasn’t the original plan.” Fingon let out a long sigh, then rolled to his feet. “How do you ever get up in the mornings? Your bed is… like sleeping on a cloud. It’s incredible. I think I want to stay forever.” He glanced around the washroom, pulling out a second towel for himself. “And why _don_ _’t_ you have a bath? As Fëanáro’s son  I imagined you would have a bath with strong currents to ease sore muscles or a pool or some other incredible thing if you so desired it.”

"Well, not of my own. There's two washrooms with...rather large baths, actually," he said with an inviting wink, "just down the hall. Which I could show you sometime before you leave." He turned on the spray, waiting until it warmed up before pulling Fingon under it with him. And I used to have a bath, but that was before--before Carnister, I suppose. At that point, a bath each for seven children? Amil got bored carving them." He shrugged. "Showers are quicker. The twins refuse baths, so I have to wrangle them in here..." He huffed, reaching up to untie Fingon's braids. "As for the bed-- _that_ is my luxury. Especially since my brothers--well, I'm accustomed to not sleeping alone. Mother and father often work late, and if the children are scared or bored. Even Celegorm, if you'd believe it, occasionally slept in this bed. It's probably less me and more the bed." He laughed as he scrubbed soap into Fingon's scalp.

“Does that mean I should expect additional company while I’m staying here?” Fingon asked with a wink. He groaned as Maedhros continued to massage his scalp and hair. “Russ, your hands should be illegal. That is amazing!” He sighed, caught between the hot spray and Maedhros’ hands. “Perfect bed, scalp massages, your company… I’m getting spoiled again, and it’s been less than a day.”

"Well, I want you to enjoy your stay, before you cease to be a guest and become family." He kissed Fingon's nose and, "Close your eyes," he said as he held him under the spray to wash the suds out. "And that's not a good thing. Well, you'll see. It will be like when you had lessons here when you were younger, only worse." He laughed and started to wash his own hair, now hogging the spray. "And yes, we shall have to be on our guard. The Ambarussa know how to unlock doors." He grimaced.

Laughing, Fingon grabbed for Maedhros’ hands, pulling them away from his hair. “My turn!” Fingon added soap to his hands, rubbing them together before reaching for Maedhros’ hair. “Here, turn- let the spray keep you warm in front, and I’ll keep you warm from behind while I work this in. And think of Ambarussa as a motivation to design better door locks.” Fingon thought for a moment while he dug his hands into Maedhros’ hair, rubbing firm circles against his scalp. “I mean this in the best possible way, but could Uncle be helping them with their lock picking? I can easily imagine him doing so to provide, ah, an incentive for the rest of you to invent better locking systems.”

"You speak as if my father were some sort of cruel, capricious god, toying with us!" Maedhros laughed: "And you'd probably be right." Relaxing and tilting his head back into Fingon's ministrations, he moaned. "Ai, Finno, your hands," he said, and sighed, hoping he wasn't going to react to this as he thought he might.

“My hands?” Fingon pulled them out of his hair, and turned Maedhros, motioning for him to move back so that he could rinse it out. Then he turned him back to work in a softer, conditioning soap. “Tell me, Russandol, what would you have me do with them?” He detoured from Maedhros’ hair, reaching up to knead the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Cold, and with the shower spray entirely block, Fingon moved closer to his lover, soaking in some of Maedhros’ warmth as he worked.

"Unnhh, yes, that," Maedhros moaned, sliding forward to lean forward against the wall, letting his head hang forward, and letting Fingon move under the spray. "Just--touch me," he gasped. "Please." 

“Been touching you,” Fingon said softly. “Brace yourself against the wall.” Maedhros put his hands forward, the spray of water landing across is chest, and Fingon began working down his hands down Maedhros’ back, digging into the muscles and trying to loosen them. “Is that a bit better? I can keep going, but I think we’d best get your hair rinsed out before it starts to dry with soap in it. Not that I’d mind,” he added as an afterthought, gently teasing. “But you always seem so particular about your hair.”

Maedhros snorted, straightening and rinsing his hair, pulling Fingon to him and kissing him under the water, briefly, before they finished rinsing and he turned off the spray. He draped a towel around Fingon's shoulders before reaching for one himself. "You brought a change of clothes, I assume? Or we can raid Carnistir's room."

“I dropped a travel bag in your sitting room by the wall. It has a few changes of clothes. Though you took my only travel clothes-- I’ll need those back if you want me to get home comfortably.” Fingon shivered, pulling the towel more closely around himself. “Do we need to get dressed right now, or can we sort out our hair first?”

Maedhros wrapped his arms around Fingon, warming him and kissing his damp brow. "No, I suppose we don't have to," he said, pulling Fingon to a chair and sitting him down. With the heat from the floor and and the hot mist in the air, it was not too chill, and he knotted his own hair to deal with later and wrapped the towel around his waist. "How do you want it?" he asked, toweling it off.

“Whatever would best please you, melda. You’re the one who will spend the day looking at it.” Fingon turned to grin at Maedhros, and leaned back for a quick kiss. “What else did you have planned for the day? Do you think Kano will be around?”

"Káno will be around," Maedhros said, pulling a few long cords he occasionally used for his hair and matching them against Fingon's locks (he used the gold, he always chose the gold for Fingon) and wove it into a few medium braids. "I promised him I would help him tune the grand piano. You could help. It is a bit of an ordeal, but it's interesting." He huffed. "You'll get to see Macalaurë the bossiest and sternest you've ever seen him. He makes me look lenient."

“I don’t doubt it.” Fingon shuddered slightly, recalling Maglor’s reaction when any of his instruments were mistreated. And when any of anyone else’s instruments were mistreated-and, for Maglor, mistreatment included the ‘cacophony of sound’ many of the younger Eldar considered music. “I would certainly be interested. And perhaps we can drag him outside for a while when it is finished?” Fingon stretched, trying to keep his head steady for Maedhros. “I didn’t have any plans when I came here- just wanted to see you and tag along on whatever you or Makalaurë were up to.”

Maedhros smiled, continuing to braid (he found it relaxing). "Well we are glad to have you. I am especially glad, of course. I hope mother and the children return before you have to go--I would like to tell her, too, if you think that's all right, and I would like you to be there of course." He tied off the cord, letting some of Fingon's hair hang down wet in the back, and he wrung it out with a towel.

Fingon waited until he removed the towel, and then spun around, putting his arms around Maedhros’ neck. “Of course!” He lost his smile, for a moment. “I hope I’m not becoming too familiar with good fortune- I would not take this for granted ever, but… I feel like it will go well. I feel like it can only go well, if we tell her.” Fingon hesitated. “We should- we should probably tell my father as well.” He instinctively moved closer to Maedhros, his grip around him tightening. “Though it may be best we do so while grandfather is around. And your father as well.”

Maedhros drew in a heavy breath. "Yes. Of course. I, ah, I was thinking to wait until you were formerly and legally of age--but--" he looked down, "of course, if you think he should know now, I'm glad to do it," he finished, straightening his shoulders (though the thought terrified him). "I know he is fond of me and appreciates our friendship: I think I could talk to him," he added easily.

“Perhaps not right away, but before we are bonded.” Fingon looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation and with a strange heaviness in his breast. “Forgive me, betrothed, but please- let Finwë be nearby, and let me be with you when we speak to him.” Fingon shook his head, removing the thought. “It is probably nothing. A thousand pardons- this is a day to be happy. And a day to celebrate Curúfinwë Fëanáro’s approval and blessing.” Fingon already had most of his weight hanging about Maedhros’ neck, and he pulled himself up, wrapping his legs around Maedhros’ waist, leaving him a few inches higher and looking his cousin from a common height. “It is a good day, my beautiful betrothed.” He leaned in the last inch to finish his statement with a kiss.

Maedhros kissed Fingon, gripping his backside to hold him up and probably squeezing more than was necessary. "You're right on all counts, melda. We will celebrate today, and tomorrow when Amil returns--you know she already calls you her eighth son, I do not think she will be distressed at this news--and we will deal with telling Nolófinwë when the time is right."

“I spent so much time following you around as a child…” Fingon let the statement hang, leaning their foreheads together. “Hopefully that will make it easy for everyone to think of me as part of the family. And I do love you, Russ. So very much. Have I told you that today?” He blinked for a moment as Maedhros’ hands shifted. He was certain that so firm a grip was hardly required, and that the constant movements were not necessary, but he was hardly about to complain.

"Mm, I think you have," Maedhros said, taking a seat on the chair and pulling Fingon close into his lap, "but I love hearing it--as I love telling you how much I love you." He kissed Fingon deeply, and trailed a line of kisses down his neck, punctuating each with, "I love you, I love you."

Fingon melted against him, moaning softly with each new kiss. “Russ.” As Maedhros continued down his neck to his chest Fingon could think of nothing to say but his name. He gripped at the knot Maedhros had thrown his own hair into, and his fingers tried to find purchase along smooth muscles, still damp with water from Maedhros’ hair. “Do we have time?” he asked softly, looking down at his lover.

"Mm," Maedhros said, having given up on his mantra in favor of spending his energies kissing and nipping across Fingon's chest. "I hope so," he said, because he was already hard, with Fingon so warm and moist and naked (and on his *lap* like this, it was shameful). He kneeded his fingers into the flesh at Fingon's backside and pulled him close enough to grind against.

It took several minutes of gasping and choking on air for Fingon to remember how to breathe. “What you do to me,” he muttered. “Valar, Russ.” He almost hissed the last. Fingon was seated firmly in Maedhros’ lap, and they were pressed together from stomach to chest. Fingon smiled at Maedhros, determined to contribute something to this encounter, and wriggled. He shifted himself up momentarily, and dropped down again, so that Maedhros’ arousal was caught under him, sliding between Fingon’s cheeks. Fingon’s eyes slid half-closed at the sensation, and he fisted Maedhros’ hair roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Maedhros practically snarled with need as this very suddenly was definitely not enough. He pressed his mouth and teeth to the side of Fingon's neck, and scratched his nails from his buttocks to his knees. "Need--" he huffed, and lifting Fingon, suddenly they were on the floor on hot, damp towels, and after making sure he didn't crack his cousin's head against the warm brick floor, he flipped Fingon to one side, and pressing his knees together, made a tight channel between his thighs that he could thrust through. He braced himself with one arm as he took hold of Fingon's arousal, and kissed him roughly. "Need you," he concluded.

Fingon whined, moving against him as much as he could in their new position. “You have me,” he gasped. “I am your, betrothed.” After that his voice was lost to plaintive cries and small sounds intermixed with utterances of Maedhros name, praising, pleading, and spoken as though it were the last word in existence. He brought one arm up to grab Maedhros by the hair, and the other pressed to the floor trying to keep him stable as they moved and to give him the leverage to press back against his lover. Pulling Maedhros into a deep kiss, Fingon thrust is tongue into his cousin’s mouth, mimicking Maedhros’ movements below.

Maedhros moaned into the kiss and to Fingon's hands in his hair, words stolen entirely as he thrust quickly, hips pumping. This was nothing like last night--like any part of yesterday--for this was quick, and his hips snapped at the same sharp speed of his hand. "Want to see you undone like this, writhing beneath me," he said, breathless when they broke. "I want this in earnest, want you like this, to hold you down and--hgggguuuh," he growled, unable to finish as he closed his eyes against his own stuttering moments that told him how close he was.

“Close,” Fingon agreed roughly. “Want that to. I want you to undo me at least as much as I did you yesterday. Want to – to forget there’s anything else but you, but us.” His hips stuttered, legs twitching around Maedhros. “Now, Russ,” he choked, drawing their mouths together again even as he began to tumble over the edge.

Maedhros clamped his support arm over Fingon's wrist and leaned in for a possessive kiss, the kind where their teeth ground and left both their lips bruised--and when he tumbled, it was quick and hard and delicious, and he was weary after, practically falling on top of Fingon but instead spooning behind him, throwing an arm and a leg over him, pillowing his head on his bicep. "Sorry--" he said, panting, but quickly: "I'm not sorry," he added, wiping Fingon's seed off his hand on one of the towels.

“Neither ‘m I,” Fingon agreed. Fingon laughed, slightly. “You were certainly… um, commanding. I enjoyed that.” He reached out to squeeze the hand thrown over him, threading their fingers together. “Russ? Your floor’s surprisingly comfortable.”

"Well, I thought I owed you after yesterday--" Maedhros huffed, pressing his face against Fingon's damp hair. "Actually, I just lose control sometimes, when I really want you, when I _need_ you." He kissed Fingon's temple. "And, well, at least it's warm. When I can stand we'll wash off again. Sorry to have ruined our work."

“I suppose we’ll have to shower again. Oh, the horror.” Fingon managed an impressive amount of sarcasm for one so languid and satisfied. He squeezed Maedhros’ hand. “And I _like_ when you lose control Russ. I like that you need me. Surely I’ve needed you every day of my life.” He yawned, and settled against Maedhros, shaking lightly to dislodge stray drops of water that were still making their way from his hair onto his person.

Squeezing Fingon to his chest, Maedhros sat them up, turning Fingon over in his arms and kissing him before helping them up. "You are not so slight as you used to be," Maedhros commented as he turned on the spray once again to rinse them. "Carrying you used to be easier."

“Should I be insulted by that, or pleased that I’m getting stronger?” Fingon smiled in Maedhros’ arms, pressing their lips together a last time before he slid down to stand on his own on the slick tile. “Breakfast next?” he asked. They rinsed off quickly, hair already clean, and soon Fingon found himself wrapped in another large, soft towel and taking quick steps through Maedhros’ suite to find clothing for the day.

"You should be proud. You've grown strong and agile and swift, and I take much delight in your hröa," Maedhros said, following after, letting his hair airdry. He laughed as he picked up the transparent garments he had shown Fingon earlier and set them aside in his wardrobe. "Mm, what did you bring? I think we should dress to match."

Fingon’s breath caught as Maedhros fingered the garments. “I… I may have something that would match- or at least would allow me to look like a pale imitation of you.” He dropped his bag on the bed, flopping down beside it in a casual sprawl. “Of course, I’d prefer to wear something that’s not overly revealing while we’re around your brother and father. I fear Makalaurë’s hröa might fail. And as for uncle… I have not idea how he would respond and no desire to find out.” Fingon rolled his eyes, and rifled through the bag. “But for today… perhaps something with gold to match my hair? I have… um... black and blue and brown clothing. Oh- and red.”

Maedhros grinned. "Red? You brought that for me." Quite casually he fell on top of Fingon on the bed, selecting the red shirt and the brown trousers. "Mm, you look as fetching in red as you do in blue. If only I could pull of blue," he lamented, kissing the back of Fingon's neck before rolling off of him and returning to his wardrobe to choose a long red tunic and brown leggings.

Fingon grinned, sliding into the leggings. He felt a sudden warm rush of emotion as he fingered his ring, immeasurably pleased that he did not need to remove it for the day. “You could pull off any color, Russ, though I admit to having a special fondness for you in red and blown and black. Earth tones become you, which is fitting a prince of the Noldor.” He tugged on the tunic, and light open sandals, pushing back to his feet. “Shall we to breakfast- or lunch, I suppose?”

"Macalaurë also likes to sleep late, so probably breakfast," Maedhros said, pulling on a gold belt over his tunic, but eschewing shoes for the moment as he followed Fingon out into the hall.

"Finally!" Maglor shouted as they emerged. "The coffee is cold and I can't make it right anyway, and father came in grumbling about breakfast before storming off again."

Maedhros grimaced playfully at Fingon before turning back to his brother. "You and father are both perfectly capable of feeding yourselves. I feel no remorse except for how thoroughly sozzled I was last night."

“You’re food is always the best though,” Fingon pointed out. “Not that you should be forced to feed us, of course. Here, cousin, what can I do to help?”

Maglor shot a dirty look at Fingon’s quick backtracking as soon as Maedhros had turned away from them. Fingon returned it with an impish smile.

"Fine, fine, shoo, shoo," Maedhros said, shoving his brother out of the kitchen and promptly dumping the pot of coffee before heating water for a new pot. "And tea instead for my princess--I mean, my betrothed--I mean, Findekáno," he mused with a solemn face as he went through the cupboards. "I am having a strange craving for bacon waffles, so that is what we are having," he decided after rummaging around the kitchen muttering to himself, and reached up to grab the waffle iron from above. "You could cut some fruit, Finno, if you wish."

Fingon’s stomach made an appreciative sound. He leaned against Maedhros’ back, wrapping him in a brief hug. “Can I live with you forever? That sounds… amazing!” He took out a cutting board and a knife, and began setting together a platter to go with breakfast. “And-“ Fingon shook his head. “Just don’t call me that when anyone else is around, darling. Russandoll. Hmm, that’s cute. Russan _doll_. Darling Russan _doll_.”

Maglor snorted, lounging smugly on the bench with his harp.

"I should take you over my knee, young man," Maedhros growled, blushing.

"Oh, not this again," Maglor groaned.

“He started it!” Fingon pointed out. “He called me… it doesn’t matter what he called me. But he started it!” Maglor did not look like he particularly cared who had started it, as long as someone finished it. Fingon put the platter at the center of the counter, and moved past Maedhros to wash off the cutting board and knife. On his way back, he stopped behind his lover, chin on his shoulder for a minute, ostensibly to look at his cooking. “Later, Russ,” he purred. “If you want.” Fingon shifted away, too nervous and too embarrassed by what he had just offered to stay there, and went about engaging Maglor in a conversation about his latest style of composition.

Well why did he have to go and do that? Maedhros wondered as he whipped up his favorite waffle batter and began lightly frying strips of bacon while trying to calm his frustrating libido. This would be difficult if Fingon lived with them on a regular basis. When these tasks were done and his mood was calmed, he laid strips of bacon onto the waffle iron, and poured batter on top. "Also, coffee's ready, Maglor. And your tea, Finde-cutie," he added cheekily.

“Thank m’dearest maira Maitimo mairë.” Fingon took the cup and leaned against the edge of the counter. He blew Maedhros a kiss, and stuck his tongue out at Maglor, who made a disgusted sound. “Perfect, Russ. My thanks.” The smell of heating batter filled the kitchen as they snacked on apple slices and waited for the waffles to cook. “Should someone try to find uncle?” Fingon asked hesitantly.

Maglor shook his head. “He’s been up for a while, and will likely be in the middle of a project by now. If the smell of food doesn’t draw him out, it were best we left him to his work. Particularly given the way he looked when he first came out- I think he looked nearly as bad as you did after your betrothal party Findekáno.” Fingon winced.

Maedhros snorted, but, "Do be civil, Kanafinwë--I'm making your favorite breakfast, after all. Findekáno I will deal with later," he said with promising grin. "First waffle," he announced, peeling it out of the iron and splitting it in half, one for his brother and the other for his cousin. "Kano, did you get the syrup?" He had first tried this when he was quite young, at Maglor's insistence, and though it took a while to perfect  (it was almost inedible with undercooked meat), it soon became a family favorite.

“Syrup with bacon?” Fingon did not look sold on it. “Breakfast looks delicious as is.” He moved to the table with tea and plate, and went back to grab the platter of fruit and a jug of juice. “Kano, don’t you have some childhood stories I can use to tease Russ back? Surely over the course of your life you’ve been privy to a few?” But Maglor shook his head in amusement.

“Do remember who you are talking about. I can give you unbelievable stories about Turko and Moryo, and sadly believable stores about Curvo and Ambarussa. Russ, though, is in a class all his own.” Fingon poured an extra glass of juice for Maedhros and they settled at the table, waiting for his waffle to finish before they began to eat.

"Please, eat. I will join you soon," Maedhros lied, knowing he would eat where he stood, nursing his cup of hot coffee.

Maglor drowned his waffle in syrup and dug in immediately. "This is the guy who once tattled on Atar to Finwë because Atar had been up at the forge all night and didn't go to bed on time."

"I don't think that happened quite as you remember it, Kano," Maedhros laughed. "Though it might have happened..."

Fingon and Maglor both laughed as he trailed off. “Very well, keep your secrets,” Fingon said. “Surely there’s something in your life worth teasing you over- we just have yet to recall it or find it.” He ate slowly, enjoying the textures of the meal, and the salt of the bacon. Nevertheless, the waffle was gone far too soon. “That was utter perfection, beloved. Maglor, my stomach envies you for living here.” Maglor nodded at him, mouth full.

“Join us Russ?” Fingon asked. “Or should we join you instead?” He moved to the kitchen, for the moment, carrying their plates and taking his tea for a refill.

"Fine, fine," Maedhros said, placing a hot waffle on his own plate as he filled the iron with more batter and waffles, filled Fingon's teacup, and moved to the bench, straddling it for easy getting up and down. He bolted his food, which was well, since the machine beeped at him and he returned with more half-waffles, "For my favorite brother and beloved," he said, filling their plates and drinking his juice.

As he set more food out, Fingon gave snuck in a quick kiss before digging into his second waffle, close behind Maglor who was scarfing his down. “Russ, this is the best breakfast I’ve had in… well, since the last time you cooked for me, at least. _Thank you_.” The last was sincere and heartfelt. They ate in silence for a time, enjoying the fresh food and ice cold juice.

"You're welcome. You know it is a joy to cook for you both," Maedhros said, wrapping a casual if discreet arm around Fingon while he ate awkwardly with his left hand. "I give Atar five minutes to join us, or he'll not be coming," he said, getting up once again to put a new waffle on, and returning with more coffee.

“Do you and your brothers often place bets on that?” Fingon asked with a smile, adding a few slices of fruit to Maedhros’ plate and to his own. “And where are you in your current project Kano? Will you be locked away all day, or joining us for part of it?”

"If you still wanted to, brother, the piano--?" Maglor asked hesitantly, and Maedhros, mouth full of fruit, nodded. "Today I wish to retune and restring all the stringed instruments. Which should take most of the day, but will be rewarding."

“Piano first or later?” Fingon asked curiously, licking a drop of juice from the back of his hand.

“First,” Maglor replied immediately. “It is the most time consuming, and the tuning will last longest. I would rather have it completed perfectly before working on the true strings. After breakfast if you’re willing?”

“I’d be happy to help as well, if you need an extra pair of hands,” Fingon added.

"Of course I would," Maglor replied. "You have more musical aptitude than my dear brother. I might even let you tune some of the harps." He smiled and eyed the plate of waffles Maedhros set down in front of them as he returned to sit.

“It would be my pleasure.” Fingon snuck a final waffle off the plate, nibbling at it. “Out of curiosity, Russ, about how many stringed instruments does your brother have?”

Maedhros blew out a breath. "Too many," he remarked. "A hundred?"

"Don't be absurd, brother. Eight-four. Five if you count the piano, though that's hardly mine."

Fingon whistled appreciatively. “That’s close enough to a hundred by my count. Do you use them all regularly, or are they for show?”

“Instruments are made to be played, not set out as art alone,” Maglor replied promptly. “They have slightly different tones, and there are others with different keys, different octaves, and I’ve been playing with different scales. There are different shapes and different materials used for the frames and for the strings, and all of that leads to entirely distinct sounds. I use what instrument best suits what I’m trying to create, and that changes from song to song.”

Fingon stared at him. “Sometimes you remind me of Aunt Nerdanel. But then, there are moments when you are at work or thinking of your craft or when you open your mouth and you are so truly your father’s son.”

Maglor bowed, and Maedhros looked on, grinning. "Well, have you both had enough to--Atar!" he beamed, as Fëanor stalked in, looking ravenous. Maedhros scrambled to make him a plate.

Fëanor nodded to each of them. “Son, son, I may as well call you son.” Fingon beamed. Dropping into the seat next to Maglor, Fëanor accepted the plate from Maedhros with a slight smile towards his eldest. “My thanks, Nelyo. I take it you have plans for the day?”

“They’ve agreed to assist with the piano, Atar,” Maglor supplied. “I’m trying to restring it, along with the rest of the stringed instruments currently in use.”

"Mm," Fëanor said, mouth full. He was covered in grease and dust. "First I want to borrow Findekáno for a few hours."

"Atar!" Maedhros protested defensively.

"Fine. An hour."

“Of course, uncle,” Fingon added. Though this was a man he had grown up knowing, he wished to make a good impression as Maedhros’ intended, and was more than willing to spend time with him to help generate a positive image of himself in Fëanor’s mind. “Should I throw on heavier boots, or am I alright as I am now?”

Fëanor looked down. "Do you have any with you?"

“I have traveling boots, uncle, that I often use for hiking. But I was not expecting to be in the forge.”

"Those will do," he said, cleaning up his plate and drinking two full glasses of juice. "Well, go on," he said, and grinned when Fingon jumped up to do his bidding.

"Atar, be nice," Maedhros growled. "If you scare him or give him any of those 'If you hurt my son' speeches..."

Fëanor patted his son on the back disarmingly. "Ah, you're no fun, Maitimo," he said, "but fine. I was merely going to take some measurements, get his station set up. At least let your atar have some fun before I have to go draft a letter to my *brother*." He sounded annoyed, but Maedhros noticed that he did not say 'half-brother.'

Fingon raced to Maedhros’ room, digging through his bag for heavy socks and shoving his feet into his boots. He took a moment to check over his appearance in the mirror- despite what Fëanor looked like in the middle of a project, he knew his uncle valued cleanliness and always expected his family to be presentable. Then he made his way back to the kitchen at a slightly more sedate pace. When he arrived Fëanor had disappeared, and Maedhros was working to clean up the area. He raised an eyebrow at Maglor, who gave him a ‘that way’ gesture in the direction Fëanor had gone. He squeezed Maedhros’ hand. “Wish me luck.”

"You won't need it," Maedhros promised him, but kissed his brow anyway as if to grant it. "I'll come for you in an hour if he doesn't release you," he said with a grin and a wink.

“Good luck with the piano. Even though you won’t need it,” Fingon added teasingly. “Let me know how it goes!” A quick press of lips, and then he made his way down the hall towards the back of the house and the path to the crafting area. Crystals lit the hallways so that the shaded areas were bright as the land outside at the height of day. Stepping outside, under a covered path he made his way the attached shop/laboratory/forge/crafting space. As he grew closer he followed the sound of things being moved and tools being used, until he came upon Fëanor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's interested, Fingon's ring (introduced in our story Rings and Things) is inspired by the Norman Greene design shown here:
> 
> http:// puzzlering. net/8b4c-side.jpg  
> http:// puzzlering. net/8b4c-side2.jpg
> 
> Please let us know what you think of chapter two and who your favorite drunk Elf was!


	3. Chapter 3

Fëanor was covered in sweat and dirt and grease, and much of the general area was in shambles (unlike the rest of the forge--a huge, cavernous, neatly organized and loud space) as his uncle had been rearranging one work station. "Ignore this," he said, waving his hand at the barely controlled chaos. "Stand at the station. I need to measure it for you," he said, stepping back from it.

Fingon found himself staring around the room in wonder-- he was always slightly awed when he stepped into the Fëanorian workrooms. He followed his uncle’s directions and settled at the table, while Fëanor moved around him measuring his height, his arm’s reach, and Fingon wasn’t sure what else, jotting down notes as he went. “I could--thank you uncle, but I could just use the station as it is. You don’t need to change things.“ he tailed off as he met his uncle’s gaze.

"No. It must be yours," he said, turning a crank to adjust the height of the primary table, continuing to mutter to himself before, "These will have to be entirely redone," he said, reaching over the top of Fingon and hauling up a series of shelves Fingon had thought were bolted into the table and tossing them, crashing, behind him. "All right, close your eyes."

Fingon closed his eyes and barely suppressed a wince as he heard things moving around him. He took a deep breath, smelling fresh cut wood, iron, smoke from a furnace, and less familiar metals in the air. “How long should I keep them closed, uncle?”

"As long as it takes." Fëanor walked away now, and turned on the furnace and the fans. Quickly it grew even hotter and louder as he returned to his nephew and bent down close to his ear. "You are making something for my son," he said loudly enough to be heard over the noise. "It doesn't matter what it is, just have it in your mind. Have you got it?"

Pausing for a moment, Fingon thought of the projects he had half considered as gifts for his cousin. Picking one, he turned it in his mind, considered its make and materials. When he was certain he had a fair representation in his mind, he nodded. “I have it, uncle.”

"All right, move through making it. When you reach for tools, tell me what you are reaching for. Keep your eyes closed."

“A carpenters square first, and a small blade. I need to cut a straight length of a thin wood sheet.” Fingon reached out for each piece as he mentioned it, and heard Fëanor taking more notes. “A pair of pliers next, to cut several lengths of wire.” Trying to ignore him, he let himself fall into the creative process as he did when drawing. They continued in this manner for some length of time, until the piece was finished. Then Fëanor began asking him to grab other tools, things he had not used for his imagined project (a chisel, a gem cutter, a lathe), and eventually tools he was less familiar with. At eventually, after a long pause, he was forced to admit defeat. “Forgive me, uncle, but I am not familiar with such a device.”

"It's all right. You will learn. You'll probably need a rasp, if you're making what I think you're making--a box, yes? The filing tool. Reach for that," Fëanor said, taking measurements and jotting down notes, and then he perused his list. "All right, what if you were working with metal? Or needed a powered tool?"

Things went on like this for some time, until suddenly Fëanor said: "All right, we are done here. You may go back to the house. Tell Nelyo I will be in shortly." When Fingon opened his eyes Fëanor had wandered deeper into the forge, but, "Findekáno?" he called as an afterthought.

“Yes, uncle?”

He stopped midstride, drew in a large breath as if to say something profound, but deflated without saying it. Instead he turned, walked back to Fingon, and put a hand on his shoulder. And smiled. "I am supposed to threaten you, I suppose, to never break my son's heart, or, something." He paused again, and gestured futilely. "I'm not good at--I never--what I'm _supposed_ to do?" He scratched his head. "So. But I know that--I know you _won't_ ever hurt him," he said, with the same certainty he knew Fingon would learn his way around the forge. He squeezed Fingon's shoulder briefly, looking nervous and almost awkward. "I'll be glad to have you as a son-in-law," he said abruptly, stiffly, almost like he was embarrassed, and walked away.

“Th-thank you!” Fingon called after him. “And thank you for the work station as well. And helping design it.” But Fëanáro merely lifted a hand in acknowledgement without stopping or turning as he continued on into a different room. Fingon stretched, realizing that he had been there for some time, and his feet were beginning to tire from standing, closed-eyed, as he answered Fëanor’s questions. He turned to leave, taking a last look at _his_ work area, and sought for Maglor and Maedhros in the main house, heading to the main sitting rooms and then following the sounds of a harp being tuned.

Maedhros had been waiting, and rose from the couch when Fingon arrived. "Ah, he didn't even make you do anything!" he beamed at finding Fingon clean.

"And exactly one hour," Maglor commented. "I told you atar knows exactly how much time he spends in there. He's worse than you and your freaky time-telling," he laughed, laying aside his harp as he also stood.

"So you're saying he's in there all hours _just_ to anger amil?" Maedhros shot back, laughing. "Come, Findekáno, we waited for you to tune the piano."

“This is… Valar, Makalaurë, you have a lot of instruments.” Fingon wound his way through them, towards the piano which sat in a beam of light from outside, looking like the only instrument which belonged. “What do you need me to do?” Maglor shoved a toolbag into his hands.

“Hand me things as I ask, so that I don’t have to keep moving in and out. Maitimo will help by playing a bit as I adjust the tension on the wires. Only when I say, though,” he added to Maedhros. “I don’t want to risk damaging a string or my hand while I’m working.”

Maedhros raised his hands placatingly as Maglor crawled beneath the piano. "He thinks I don't help him do this twice a year," he whispered to Fingon, but "HEY!" Maglor shouted, so he made a face and was quiet. "Sit here, Fingon," Maedhros said, so that Fingon was leaning back against his legs, "you can hand him the tools from here."

"If you're _quite_ done," Maglor said irritably, "I'd appreciate it if you'd start at the top, brother."

Maedhros struck a jarring note as Fingon pulled off his hiking boots and set them to the side, and Fingon winced. After a difficult start, however, they began working at a decent speed. Fingon was impressed with the rate and accuracy of Maglor’s tuning, and said as much to his cousins’ amusement. “Do you play often, Kano, or do you prefer stringed instruments or woodwind?”

"Depends on my mood," Maglor answered.

"And what we want to hear--or not hear," Maedhros piped up. "Kano is very accommodating."

Maglor smiled, slightly. “If playing a requested song can calm Ambarussa, it is a price I will pay gladly. Next key, please?” Fingon glanced up at Maedhros, whose hand had moved to the far left of the keyboard as he struck the next note.

Maedhros then placed his hands on his lap, not wanting to face Maglor's wrath should he strike a key out of place. He was not a fidgety person, but that he had Fingon's head just in the right spot to play with his hair was just too tempting.

After a minute with Maedhros’ hands in his hair, Fingon could no longer suppress the contented sound that had been threatening to escape. Maglor looked at him, then looked up at Maedhros, and rolled his eyes. “Really?”

“Not doing anything wrong,” Fingon pointed out. “And were helping you, so…” Maglor shook his head, making an effort to work faster.

"I'm only--" Maedhros was about to protest, before he remembered where 'only playing with Fingon's hair' got him earlier this morning, and he stopped. "Yes, well, fine," he said.

Maglor paused as his brother’s speech faltered- an unusual occurrence for him. “Why do I have the feeling I don’t want to know?” He shook his head. “Findekáno, one size up please? And then we’re almost done here.” Fingon dutifully handed him the next tool as Maedhros hit keys on command, their tones slowly shifting to the appropriate notes. Eventually, Maglor pronounced the piano tuned.

“I don’t know. Do you think you should play something first, just to make sure?” Fingon asked with a smile.

“What would you have me play?” Fingon shrugged.

“Something you’ve been working on recently? One of your own compositions, if you’re willing.”

"Well, there's that new ditty the Ambarussa quite like, but I don't think Maitimo wants to hear that when he doesn't have to--"

Maedhros was indeed silently shaking his head.

"Or, well, this one, from a snatch of something mother was humming--I like listening to her while she works--she hums, you know," he said, sitting down, "tunelessly, usually, but, well, here's this. Maitimo, you can help with this one."

"I...can?" Maedhros said, but as Maglor began to play: "Oh, _this_  one. Yes." He turned to Fingon as he sat down. "Maglor so graciously allows me to keep the low notes warm for him, just these four keys to be exact--oof!" he cried as Maglor elbowed him in the ribs, of course without missing a beat.

Laughing, Fingon moved around to watch his cousins play. Their work was excellent, as always, and he could almost feel the song moving around him. Closing his eyes, he stepped away, moving about the room lightly as he swayed and spun with the rise and fall of the piano.

Maedhros let his eyes wander, placing his fingers on the keys so he could play without looking, lost less in his brother's music than on Fingon's perfect form swaying and dancing to the tune.

"Off beat," Maglor reminded him, so he just stopped playing, dropping his hands to his lap, and Maglor grumbled but picked up the low notes without missing one, his hands moving faster than the slow melody seemed to require.

When the song was done, and Fingon slid to a stop, "Well if my brother can stop thinking with his puntl for ten seconds," Maglor grumbled.

"Can I help it if Fingon is such a wonderful dancer?" Maedhros returned.

Fingon flushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled, moving back to the piano bench. “The song was beautiful, Kano. Thank you.”

“And with that, I think we can officially pronounced this task completed. Thank you both.” Maglor hopped off the bench, returning to the harp he had set aside when Fingon arrived.

"Macalaurë," Maedhros said, tugging at his brother's arm. "Leave that alone. We've bored Findekáno enough with instruments. Let's go walking, or riding!"

“You don’t have to,” Fingon clarified, “but we’d love to have you along. Riding, perhaps, if that appeals to everyone?”

"The sun will be low before you finish tuning all four thousand of your harps, Kano," Maedhros added.

Maglor looked down at the harp he'd been about to tune, frowning. His brother was right-- it would take him hours to tune all the harps.  If he wanted to finish it before tonight, he really should not go riding. He tipped his head to the side almost imperceptibly to look at one of the knobs on the harp, and then glanced back up.  "Oh, very well. These need not be tuned right away. I suppose another day will not hurt them," he said.

Fingon grinned. “Besides, Kano, you have a few more days before your younger siblings return. There should be plenty of time to finish them before you get your, ah, creative ambient noise back.”

"Wahey!" Maedhros cried, clapping Maglor on the shoulder and dragging him out before he could change his mind. He grabbed the first things that came to hand in the way of foodstuffs (dried fruit and cheese and a loaf of bread, and filled waterskins) and ushered brother and cousin to the stables.

Fingon grinned at Maglor as Maedhros guided them out. “Besides, Kano, you have a few more days before your younger siblings return. However long we stay out, there should be plenty of time to finish them before you get your, ah, creative ambient noise back.”

Maglor snorted softly.  "Ah yes, 'creative ambient noise'.  There is perhaps no better inspiration than the need to silence one's younger brothers for an hour," he laughed, although this complaint was more noise than anything.  To his surprise, he did actually miss the noise when it was absent for too long.  The stable was quiet, too, with the horses missing, and he went straight to the wall where tack was kept in perfect order. He collected a blanket and went to see to his own horse, leaving his brother and cousin to see to their own tack and mounts.

They watched Maglor disappear quickly with his gear while they were still making their way to the wall. "You know, for someone who wants to be indoors working on instruments, you brother sure seems… ah, enthusiastic about being outside."

"My brother is enthusiastic about many things," Maedhros said. Saddling up quickly, and helping Fingon with a fresh horse since his was tired, the trio rode out into the house's courtyard. "I was thinking we could ride up toward the hill and loop back by the woods."

"I have no objections to that," Maglor said, and nudged his horse over to ride on his brother's other side.  "Provided that it doesn't turn in to one of those neck-or-nothing horse races that the others are so fond of causing."

Maedhros hid his smile well, but it was a good job Fingon was far behind Maglor, as his grin was almost predatory. Maedhros didn't like the younger children to race, as it became a test of speed rather than of intelligence, as it should be, navigating the safest and quickest path through trees and around rocks, without tiring one's horse more than necessary.

Actually, Aredhel was best at these. But that was beside the point (and she wasn't _so_ young, either, anymore).

The day was warm, but not too warm, and the Treelight warmed the colors around them. "We'll have to do this often when you're with us, Findekáno," Maedhros said. "There's not much unexplored in the near vicinity, but I do always hope."

"We found some new caverns the last time we were out with Finderáto's near grandfather's," Fingon pointed out. "I do think we may have created a bit of a monster with that first trip." He laughed at the thought. "Not *much* unexplored? Does that mean there's a particular area we should head towards? Something with a bit of adventure?" He added the last with a grin, repeating a regular part of their dialogue with their young cousin.

"Ah, well," Maedhros said, "there's some interesting rocky crags up to the north of the hill..." he offered, though he would be giving up his advantage in the race (he had a secret path through the woods).

"Yes, let's go there," Maglor agreed, hoping to forestall the inevitable (he should never have mentioned racing) by taking them where racing would be foolhardy, at best.  And the crags _were_  interesting, and not nearly as popular with the younger children as the forest, so he rarely got the chance to explore them for any amount of time.

"You two are the experts." Fingon smiled. "Exploring does sound fun though. Especially if there might be an area in your home territory that hasn't yet been explored. Though I am somewhat surprised that the Ambarussa wouldn't head out there for just that reason." He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Oh, they do," Maedhros growled. "And now the Ambarussa can follow them. Turns out they can get on a horse on their own by helping each other. That was a horrifying discovery."

Fingon snorted, then laughed, unable to resist despite the looks his lover was shooting them. "Really?" he asked Maglor, still chuckling.

"Really.  They just, you know, disappeared one day.  Couldn't find them anywhere.  We went to look for them in the stable and found a horse missing, and that's how we found out that Ambarussa can get on a horse unassisted.  Luckily, they took the old, stupid one.  They didn't get very far…" Maglor laughed, although it certainly hadn't been very funny at the time.  They'd been sure their father was going to _kill_  them for losing the twins.

"Amil was furious. They are her darling babies, Valar, I don't know how we got out of that one." Maedhros shuddered overdramatically.

"Were they running away or exploring? No--wait, I'm not sure I even want to know. Who all was looking for them? And please tell me my aunt and uncle didn't find out until after it was all over." Fingon tried to imagine his brother or sister pulling a stunt like that when they were younger, and was distantly pleased that he could not. Hopefully that spoke more about his family members' temperaments than it did about his imagination.

"Who knows? Both? They were hungry, though, so they might have been lost." He remembered fondly the only good part of that incident was when they both clung to him as he pulled them off the horse and all the way home, as if they were genuinely glad to see him, no matter how he scolded. "And no, Amil and Atar didn't know until Maglor and I walked in with them."

"They were not best pleased," Maglor stated, and left it at that, because as much as they'd scolded the twins for running off, their parents had scolded them several times worse for losing track of them. "Anyway, we've only seen the crags when we've had to chase the others away from them," he said as they drew nearer to the crags.  He waited patiently for his horse to pick its way up a trail that seemed to consist almost entirely of loose, slate-grey rock but that also took them much closer to the crags than he'd ever been.  They towered up high enough that he wouldn't have wanted to climb them without a rope, marked with deep fissures that ran all the way from top to bottom. In some places, they resembled the leaves of books, as if they been piled on each other and then heaved over sideways, their uniform greys broken by blacks and steel-blue and the occasional streak of deep red or purple.  He stopped his horse for a moment to look up at them, and smiled.

"We should climb," Fingon murmured, gazing at them longingly. "The view would be incredible. You've never seen uncle's house from that height." He shot a look at Russ. "Besides, it can't be worse than other climbs we've made." Just glancing at it, he could almost spot a path through more solid looking places. The hint of a reasonable approach, however, was belied by the steep sections of loose shale. Still… if they truly wanted to, with three of them. They'd have to be careful of course, but somehow he was sure it could be done.

"Macalaurë doesn't like climbing," Maedhros said, trying to wave Fingon down. "We don't need to climb it."

"It isn't that I don't like climbing," Maglor responded evenly, "But we have no ropes, and that is no small pile of rocks for the children to climb on," he said, looking up, and up, to the top of the tallest of the crags.  Then he looked back at his brother.  "I can climb. I merely choose not to take foolhardy risks," he said with some slight annoyance.

Maedhros raised his hands in apology. "We could take it slow?" he still pressed, grinning.

"Come on, Kano, you trust us, right?" Fingon pressed with a grin. "I promise not to race you, even though you both seemed just about ready to start a horse race in your home territory. This way would be a bit more even, come to think of it."

"I'll be right behind you, Macalaurë," Maedhros said with glee as he dismounted. "Once I'm sure you're safe I should still be able to pass you." He winked.

Fingon eyed the brothers and moved several yards away, choose another likely looking starting point and making his way a few feet up. If the path he was eyeing worked, it would converge with their route between twenty and thirty yards up. "Keep an eye on the solid looking grips," he called over. "Some of them appear to be loose."

"You keep an eye," Maedhros returned. "I can't look after both of you from here."

"Of course they're loose, this is shale," Maglor replied, but he was already eyeing his own handholds and a possible way up. "And I can look after myself…" he added, more out of habit than anything, and grimaced when he realized he sounded like one of the twins when they were whining. With a brief scowl, he started up the rock face, finding handholds fairly easily, although Fingon was right-- many of them were not as stable as they appeared on first glance.

Maedhros placed himself between them, but closer to Maglor, and both brother and cousin had started up before he had even looked at his rock. "Ah," he said, realizing this was going to be harder than he thought, and had to rearrange himself even to find holds.

Fingon scrambled up, using both his smaller size and his tendency to get himself into these sort of predicaments to move upwards. He found himself taking diagonals routs, and rarely moving straight up, but the speed it allowed was worth it. After fifteen yards onto f his grips collapsed, and he threw his arm out, catching another outcropping of  rock. The dislodged pieces bounced off the side as they fell, clattering loudly. "Well, this is getting interesting," he called over, looking at where Maglor was climbing a short ways below him on his right under Maedhros' watchful eye.

"Yeah, as the both of you destroy all the good holds on the way up!" Maedhros grumbled good-naturedly.

"They're hardly good holds if they collapse that easily," Fingon called back. "And besides," he grinned wickedly. "It's getting up that's the hard part. Getting down… that's pretty much guaranteed to happen no matter what. It's just the matter of 'how' that we want to control."

"That is why I wanted ropes!" Maglor commented, pausing to look over at his brother, just to make sure he was managing-- two could play at the 'overbearing sibling' game.  "Perhaps you should have chosen an easier rock, Maitimo!" he laughed when he was reassured that his older brother was, in fact, keeping up with them.

"Quiet, you," Maedhros said, because he clearly had bit off more than he could chew in this situation, and was making very poor progress. Giving up, he sidled over and slid in behind Maglor, who had selected and easier ascending point.

Fingon laughed, cutting across to try to move towards them as they continued up. After several more minutes, they reached a flat ledge that went deep into one of the crannies in the rock face. Looking out he could see a large portion of their uncle's land including both the main house and crafting area. "Break?" He asked, walking over to where their route reached the ledge. He offered Maglor a hand as he reached the top of the climb.

Maglor reached up and pulled himself onto the ledge with Fingon's help.  "At least the view will be nice at the top," he said as he glanced out--even from here, it was a beautiful view. He glanced back down to where Maedhros was following his own handholds, and crouched to offer him help up, as Fingon had done for him a moment earlier.  "Give up on your own path?" he asked him, grinning.

"I will throw you off of this mountain," Maedhros promised, grumbling, as he accepted the hand up. Panting, he looked around them. "That--" he was about to say 'is a nice view,' but "is a storm coming in," he finished instead, pointing. He frowned at the last section they had left to climb, and sighed. "We should go back down."

"That's… less than fortunate," Fingon muttered. He glanced the rest of the way up, wishing they had time to make it to the top just for a minute. But the clouds appeared to be moving quickly, and as treacherous as the climb up had been, going down on wet rock would be many times worse. "Ah, well. I suppose we had best. Uncle actually seemed fairly pleased with me this morning- I have no desire to tell him one of you were damaged or broken in my company sliding down wet rocks. That would be decidedly bad." He made a face as he moved to the top of the path down.

"Finno, stay on this path with us, please?" Maedhros asked. "And I'll go first." The wind picked up, and, "Tie your hair back, Kano," he reminded his brother, as he knotted his curls.

"As my prince commands." Fingon bowed with a smirk, and waited until Maedhros had made it several yards down. He then tipped his head at his cousin, and then stepped off the edge, turning as he began to drop down, and grasping the edge as he found a foothold and began the descent.

Maglor reached up and gathered his hair hastily at the nape of his neck.  He almost demanded to go down second, but decided that in the long run, it probably made very little difference who went down in what order--if one of them fell, it wasn't as if the other two would be able to catch him.  "Be careful," he warned the other two before he, too, started down. He was never going on one of these 'adventures' without a rope ever again.

The storm was blowing in fast, and a few drops struck him as they descended. "It's not a race, now," he said, though he was himself being a bit careless in an effort to give Fingon plenty of room to creep up on him. "Maglor, you doing all right?" he called, since he couldn't see him. He was almost at the bottom.

Fingon moved quickly, sliding down a few angled areas in an effort to catch Maedhros. The wind was picking up even as they neared the bottom. He glanced down at Russ, who was less than a body's length below him, then up at Maglor who was still slowly finding his way down. "Kano! Come on!"

"I'm fine!" Maglor called down, picking his way carefully (and slowly) down the rock face.  He could hear the other two getting away from him, but he didn't speed up. Any faster, and he knew he would fall. "You two just keep climbing. If I fall, you better catch me," he said nervously, refusing to look down.  He didn't mind heights, but they were worse with a threatening storm and a brother and a cousin harrying you.

"We're not rushing you, we're waiting for you," Maedhros called up, the wind picking up. Soon Maglor would be just within reach and he could guide his feet down--and then, of course, a rock that had held them all more than once crumbled.

"Shit!" Maedhros cried, bumping into Fingon as he stepped back to catch Maglor as he fell--or at any rate provide something softer for him to land on. All three of them cried out and ended more or less in a heap together.  

Thunder cracked overhead. "Ow, damn it. Kano, are you all right?" Maedhros demanded, checking over his brother for injuries before turning to his cousin. "No one's hurt?"

"Well, that was fun," Fingon said, trying to roll out his shoulder, where he had landed on uneven ground. "Ow." He looked around them. "I suppose we'll just have to try it again later. Though preferably not when the Ambarussa are around to get ideas."

Maglor climbed to his feet and brushed himself off, glancing up to see how far he'd fallen.  "Ow," he grumbled, and looked at his hands.  They were scraped from trying to hold onto the rock in the split second before he'd tumbled off the rock face.  "Yes, let's not give the twins any ideas," he said ruefully, "I'd rather not have to climb that while worrying if they're going to break their necks doing the same thing.  But the view _was_ fantastic. You could see everything from up there!"

"Yes, just enough of a view to see--" and right on cue, the rain started falling. "All right, get down to the horses carefully--and then race home?" he asked, grinning devilishly.

"Cheat. I still say you two have an unfair advantage!" Fingon said. He was grinning, though, as they began making their way down. "You know, sometime when we aren't worried about getting back, it would be incredible to watch a storm from up there. Not at the very top, obviously, but close to it. In one of the slightly protected areas- it looked like there were some places with good potential near the top."

"No, hey, wait, I thought we said _no_ racing," Maglor protested as the clattered down the hill to the horses.  He reached out and pulled his horse closer before climbing into the saddle, shortening the reins as the horse pranced in place.  "No!" he scolded, leaning forward to hiss at it, "No racing!"

"You want to get out of the rain, don't you?" Maedhros teased--but made a mental note to take Fingon up here the next time it was stormy. He swung up onto his mare, but waited until everyone was up and on their way before spurring his horse with a loud "Hyah!" and tearing off around the woods.

"Come on, Kano! There'll be no living with him if we can't at least stay close!" Fingon took off after his cousin, racing through darkened parts of the forest which, though growing slick with rain, were at least protected from the storm's wind.

Muttering about the recklessness of older siblings and cousins, Maglor kicked his horse and went after the other two.  The rain whipped his face and he wiped the fat drops out of his eyes, letting his horse pick its way through the forest in as straight a line as possible, listening to the noise of Maedhros and Fingon nearby.

Maedhros took the long way around, outside the edge of the woods, letting his large, long-legged  horse outstrip the others. There was also a secret corner, where a small brook flowed, that cut off a section of the trip but gave his horse a straight line to run.

Fingon cut deeper through the woods, closer to the path they had taken on the way up. Further in he reached areas he had traveled more often with the older Fëanoreans, and could find paths where his horse could safely be pushed faster. "Come on," he encouraged, keeping his head and body low as they flew past trees and whipping branches, making their way through the denser part of the wood and seeing it begin to thin as they reached the far side.

Maglor's horse picked its way along the shortest--albeit, most tree-crowded--path through the forest.  It had the added advantage of keeping him mostly out of the rain, which was fantastic, and he didn't really care if he won. At least he would be dry, which was more than he could say for the others if they were taking an easier route outside the forest.

Maedhros' horse careened past the others out of nowhere, angling past them toward the house along the line of the small brook. He was too close: his brother and Fingon were better horsemen now, and now they saw his secret route. But still, his horse was larger and faster, and from here it was an all-out race. Since they saw him anyway, he whooped playfully, but did not look behind him.

Fingon frowned as he urged his horse faster, trying desperately to keep up with Maedhros. He realized, with a touch of disappointment, that this was the perfect opportunity to use one of the small slingshots his younger cousins played with, and he shook his head at the direction his thoughts were taking. Instead he focused on urging his horse faster over the fields back to the stable that they were nearing.

Maedhros kept his lead, rain and wind pelting him as he lowered himself down flat against his horse. She needed no urging to get home as quickly as possible, and when he slowed down to careen into the stables, he had a good enough lead that he probably needn't have urged her on so hard. Maedhros laughed triumphantly as Fingon and Maglor galloped in, and he swung down off his horse, leading her around to cool her off.

"I knew it!" Fingon called as he slowed his horse to a walk, slipping off and moving closer to Maedhros. "But we've seen your short cut! That's only of use to you so long as no one else actually sees you using it." He grinned through the rain. "I think it's been a productive day," he added with a grin.

"I didn't know that shortcut!" Maglor exclaimed as he swung off his horse.  He walked the horse up and down the aisle of the stable until he wasn't breathing so hard, and then removed the saddle and the bridle.  "But Findekáno is right--you can only use that shortcut so many times.  Maybe I should tell our brothers, and even up the odds next time we race."

Maedhros groaned. "All right, I'll have to find a new route. Or give up my racing days," he offered with a wink. He removed his horse of her gear and led her back to her stall.

"That was informative," Fingon commented to Maglor. "And you don't think any of your other brothers know about it?" he inquired speculatively. "That could be useful." He nodded, slowly walking his horse back, trying to avoid the largest of the puddles that were forming.

Maglor grinned wickedly.  "No, I'm sure they don't.  If they do, they haven't used it, and that would be very unlike them," he replied.  They were still of an age that they really only cared about winning, especially the youngest, who felt like they had something to prove.  "But I suppose if it means they are occasionally beaten at their own game, I might refrain from sharing that shortcut with them.  They'll only grow overconfident if they win _every_ time," he said thoughtfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Caitydid, who co-wrote part of this chapter with us as Maglor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Finwë Finds Out, Maedhros and Fingon had a frank, admittedly uncomfortable, discussion about what they were willing to do and the difference between playing and reality. 
> 
> In this chapter they'll be further exploring their boundaries, but we hope we've captured that they are doing so in a loving, light-hearted way. They're exploring sensations and try a little bondage because they're both curious and they trust each other (and they are _both_ curious, so they'll be trying things the other way later), but if either one of them says "Stop!" their partner will be backtracking faster than Nahar can run. At all points their sexual encounters remain safe, sane, consensual, and playful to the best of the authors' abilities.

"Russ," Fingon sighed as the door closed behind them. He stepped into his lover's arms, leaning heavily against him and letting himself relax. It had been a good day, if a long one. He looked up at his cousin. "Today was perfect. Spending time with Kano was wonderful, and your father was so…" Fingon shook his head against Maedhros' chest. "I will love spending time here. As long as you don't get tired of me." The last part was added with a small smile.

"Mm, as will I," Maedhros said, pulling Fingon into a possessive kiss. "If you can manage to behave," he laughed as they moved to the bed. "Calling me silly names that undermine my already precarious authority in front of my brother is hardly model behavior."

Fingon's spine tingled at the reminder. "You did start that, Russ," he pointed out, flopping onto the bed. He stared up at Maedhros. "Calling me your princess is hardly polite." And Valar, but he was hardening at the reminder and at the implicit threat.

He hummed and smiled wickedly down at Fingon as he stretched out over him. "Ah yes, and what was it you suggested I do for revenge?" He asked, laying his hand flat on Fingon's chest.

Fingon felt himself flush as a chill ran through him. The place where Maedhros' hand touched him _burned_. "I--I said you could put me over your knee." He spoke quickly, gaze turned downward and toward the wall. This was something they had never done before, and Fingon had never been hit in his life (outside of sparring practice), and yet… He shivered, from his head to his toes.

"Ah, but you seem to be punishing yourself enough already," Maedhros teased, belying his own barely controlled shaking. He had been struck in such a manner only once by his father, and had immediately learned better, and since then he had taken the little ones over his own knee for serious crimes, but--this was wholly different. "Stand up," he ordered suddenly, "and strip: put your clothes on the chair, and fold them."

Fingon stood shakily, moving to the chair and stripping. His fingers caught twice on the laces of his tunic, but eventually both the red shirt that complimented Maedhros’ hair and his trousers were discarded. He folded them carefully, brushing out any wrinkles, and set them down. He turned to Maedhros’ with his head downturned, staring at the floor as though repentant or ashamed. In truth he was flushed and he shivered with desire as he fell into character, into this bedroom game that his lover had suggested.

"Findekáno," Maedhros said, cupping his chin and meeting his eye. "Are you all right, my love? We can stop playing at any point. Call me by my father-name--" that was used so rarely, and often when he was in trouble, anyway, "and we will stop. Understand?"

Fingon pressed gently against the hand holding his head. "I will enjoy anything you wish to do to me, betrothed," he said quietly. And they were only playing. He had broken out in goose flesh, but what he said was true. He would to anything for Maedhros, and he could not imagine something he lover might ask for that would not be willingly given. "But thank you, my prince."

Maedhros pulled him into a kiss before eyeing him carefully again. "Would it be all right--just to try--if I bound your hands? I think I'll find something softer than the cord," he teased lightly at the end.

Fingon flexed his hands at the thought, but then nodded. He felt guarded, protected under Maedhros’ concerned gaze. “As it pleases thee. I think we’ve decided you can be in charge for a while, so… anything you want, beloved. Anything I can give you.”

Maedhros pressed his lips together. "Well, all right. We can stop at any time. If you're not comfortable. Don't forget that." When Fingon nodded he straightened his back and changed his voice again: "Hands in front then, wrists crossed," he demanded, and watched carefully to see how Fingon reacted to this.

Swallowing hard, Fingon moved his arms as Maedhros had described. He had though Maedhros was just going to… but that didn’t matter. If his cousin had demanded he not move, he would have destroy his hröa trying to obey, but perhaps there was something to be had in this, in not having to worry about keeping his arms still because he would not be able to move them if he tried. He watched his hands as Maedhros reached out and took them.

Pleased, Maedhros took Fingon's hands and bound his wrists tightly together, but with a forgiving strip of cloth--something he could probably wriggle out of if he really wanted to. "Now, make a fist for me, and release it," he ordered. "Good. If you get to a point where you can't do that, you tell me to stop, all right? And what do you say to make me stop?"

“I understand. I say your father-name,” Fingon repeated dutifully. He focused on stilling his wrists; now that they were bound he felt a strong desire to move them, it rub a bit of skin that suddenly itched, to run a hand through his plaits. Instead he turned his eyes to his cousin, unsure what he would want or do next.

"You can struggle, if you want," Maedhros said with a slightly wicked smile. "I imagine that would be the fun part. But first I want you to go to the table and bring me the pot of oil, in case we need it later and I don't want to get up."

“It may be, indeed.” Fingon was well aware that Maedhros had not tied him with knots he would be unable to get out of. He made his way to the table carefully, having to lean over it to carefully grasp the pot in his bound hands before making his way back to Maedhros. It was somewhat comforting to note that his cousin shook slightly, and that his pupils were widely blown and his breaths already uneven.

"Good, now come here," Maedhros said, suddenly impatient. He set the pot on the bed next to him and tipped Fingon across his thighs, but here he paused. "Get as comfortable as you can. You may be here a while."

Fingon exhaled harshly and took in a stuttered breath. He wriggled, until he was somewhat comfortably sprawled across Maedhros, arms outstretched in front of him and head relaxed on the bed. Then he turned back to Maedhros with a grin. "Yes sir, m'lord. As my prince commands."

"Good, I like that," Maedhros said, laying his hand flat on the globes of Fingon's backside (Valar, he was just as beautiful as he'd imagined him to be from this angle). "Though I won't have you being too loud." Without warning, he raised his hand and brought it down with a light smack, just to test it. It wasn't very hard, and did not make a very satisfying noise, so he tried again, and that time got a yelp and a twitch. "How was that?" he asked, massaging the offended area.

Fingon jumped at the slap and then shifted at the continued attention the area. “I certainly felt it, if that’s what you’re asking, Russ!” His voice had gone a bit higher than he was comfortable with, and he coughed once. “It’s fine. Good, even. It’s your hands on me, and that is wonderful.” He tried to loosen his tensed muscles and relax over Maedhros’ thighs.

"Good. Now this may hurt a little, but I will stop if you say my name. Got it?" he warned, before peppering the area with light, quick slaps, and three or four sharp hard ones, before stopping. Fingon's rear was bright pink, and he kneaded his flesh.

“AH!” The first slaps were alright, though Fingon could certainly feel them as they piled upon on tender flesh. The last ones, however… he had never felt anything like that. “Russ!” Strong, large hands dug into him, adding insult to injury.

"I like the noises you make," Maedhros said, and smacked him again, sharply, and again. He now rested his left hand between Fingon's shoulder blades, bracing and pinning him. "Do you think you have learned your lesson? Or do you require a few more?"

Fingon rolled his hips slightly. He bit at his lip as he felt the heat rising from his skin. It ached as he moved, and burned slightly. He was certain he was bright red already. “Umm.” He turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of Maedhros. His arousal--somehow, he was still, was more, aroused by what they were doing--jumped against his lover’s thigh. “More. Please,” he whispered.

"Mm, that's my boy, that's my Finno," he hummed to himself, and rained them down hard and fast until Fingon's backside was bright red and his own hand began to sting.

Fingon gasped, and cried out. As Maedhros continued hit him, he found himself not moving away or to the side, but up into this lover’s hands, anticipating and moving towards each stroke as it fell. “Fuck,” he gasped, almost sobbing. He felt wet tracks down his cheeks, and yet he didn’t want this to stop- could keep doing this, with Russ, for them. His hips stuttered as Maedhros slowed, and he carefully unclenched his hands from a white knuckled grip in the sheet. “Russ?” His head remained flat against the bed but his hips moved plaintively towards his cousin. And now his face matched how his rear must look, because Valar, he was practically begging for this.

"Yes, Finno, I've got you, shh," he said, delighting at the soft hiss Fingon gave as he massaged his very tender (very bright red) backside. "Mm, if only you could see yourself. You look beautiful like this. I've got you now, no more. You did so well." He shifted his thigh slightly, and reached around and beneath Fingon to test his hardness, and almost laughed in delight and surprise. "Oho, Finno. Someone liked that almost as much as I did," he commented, stroking him almost lazily before releasing him.

“Th-think I could finish just from that,” Fingon said softly. He wasn’t sure where this honesty was coming from, and later would have to consider whether he was over sharing. But in this moment, flat on the bed with his arms tied in front of him, and no place to go, telling Maedhros anything and everything felt safe and felt right. He was relaxed, now, and when his arms twitched they fell back against the bedspread, kept together by Maedhros’ soft fabric. “Russs!” He bucked against his cousin lightly as he was released after a teasing stroke.

Maedhros smiled as Fingon wriggled, and pinned him down, hand on thighs and back. "Easy, easy, I'm not done with you yet," he said, and reached for the pot of oil, settling is carefully against his hip as he coated his fingers. "All right, relax for me. I know it stings, but relax your legs," he said, massaging the area around Fingon's entrance but not breaching him, and for now, at least, trying to avoid the red areas.

Fingon nodded into the bedspread. “Please,” he whimpered. He settled against his cousin, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to calm himself. Every movement, either his own or on Maedhros’ part, sent sparks through him. And now he wanted--he wanted anything, everything. He wanted Maedhros’ to keep doing this, gently teasing him for hours, and he wanted fingers inside him; he wanted his cousin to hit him again and to keep going. He wanted himself sweated through and wrung out and limp in Maedhros’ grasp. He wanted his cousin to give up on waiting and pour oil over himself and just _take_ him, for hröa and fëa would be willingly given. “P- _Please_.”

Now the desperation in Fingon's voice was doing things to Maedhros, coiling tight in his belly, and he shifted, and moaned softly. "Ai, Finno, of course," he said softly, and pressed one finger inside and out, testing, and then slid it deeper and out again, and did this for some time, going just a fraction deeper with each slide. "So good for me, so good," he sighed. "Could do this to you forever. Have you like this forever, so needy and mine."

Fingon sobbed as he was breached, muscles under his stinging skin tensing and shifting. “Yours, Russ. Always, always and forever my prince, my love, my Russandol. Oh, Valar, Russ.” He tossed his head, legs and arms shaking. “N-need. Please.” And then his voice broken into whimpers and small, half-desperate sounds, quiet and plaintive and needy.

"I'll take care of you, shh," Maedhros said, running his left hand up and down Fingon's shivering spine, and pressed his finger all the way in until it found that spot that had Fingon thrashing in his lap. "There we are," he hummed to himself, and massaged it again, and again, until Fingon was weak and whining. Then he added another finger. "Does that feel good, my love? What if I had you nice and stretched wide, and struck you again while my fingers were in you? Would you like it, even if it hurt?"

Fingon keened, arching back against Maedhros. He was going to shake apart, he was certain of it. He could barely feel his limbs, which were moving like leaves in a strong wind. Every part of him was focused on where they connected, on Maedhros' hands on him and in him. "Yes, y-yes. Yes Russ." He gasped, and nodded his head. "Please. Please do it."

"Oh, I will, I promise you," Maedhros said. "Do you think I can fit one more finger first?" he asked, but slid the third inside without waiting for an answer, steadying Fingon as he bucked and keened. "What's your word?" he felt the need to check. "If you need me to stop."

Fingon stuttered, unable to think. Russ wanted something from him other than Russ' name and yes and please? "I-I-I Ne--" he cut himself off, not wanting to risk saying it. "Your name. Your father name. Pleeeease Russ!" He was going to die. Russ was going to break his hroa ere this finished but even so, he wanted more, wanted everything Russ could or would give.

"Hush," Maedhros suddenly snapped, and with his left hand (his fingers on his right hand were otherwise occupied), he slapped Fingon on one cheek _hard._ "Only speak if you need to say the word," he ordered, and smacked him again. "But you can make all the noise you want." He shifted his fingers, finding the bundle of nerves, and then slapped him again, feeling Fingon tighten around his straining fingers. "You like that?" he asked breathlessly. "Nod or shake your head."

“A-ah!” Fingon nodded fervently, clenching around Maedhros’ fingers. When Maedhros’ struck him again, his hips thrust upward, trying to move into the blow and press Maedhros deeper. The third time, he sobbed, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks once more even as his arousal pressed insistently against Maedhros’ clothed leg.

"I want you to come for me, Finno," Maedhros said, his voice gravelly. "As many times as you can, I'm going to wring you out. I want you to stain my trousers with it, rub against me." He hit him again, and again, lighter but faster, and braced his fingers so Fingon could rock into him as he wished.

Fingon screamed and sobbed, and began rocking back against Maedhros, into his sting palm and his scissoring fingers and down against his lap. He bit his lip against the words that wanted to emerge and _howled_ as Maedhros suddenly struck him harder than he had been, flat hand landing across both cheeks. "Aagh! Nnnngh." He moaned, moving faster, trying to find leverage with his tied hands. Then as another harsh strike landed, this one slightly lower, he felt himself racing towards and over the precipice, surrounded by Maedhros who was over him and under him and in him. He bit into the bedsheet to muffle himself and screamed, hips thrashing and writhing as he ground into his cousin's thighs and lifted into his striking hand.

Maedhros sighed in relief and a heady delight as Fingon came, spending with a cry and his whole body locked down around him. "Good boy, good, Finno, that's it, good," he said, petting his hair and reducing his fingers to one sliding easily in and out. He gave Fingon a few moments to recover once he stopped twitching, and then withdrew his fingers completely. "Now I need you to do something for me," he said, and, though weary, to his credit, Fingon lifted his head. "Let's get off the bed, here, carefully, good, I'll help you," he said, "and on your knees. Good." With Fingon still dazed and pliant, he looped Fingon's bound wrists through the back of his legs where they stood on the floor, so as he sat easily on the edge of the bed, Fingon was bound to him. "Now, when you're ready," Maedhros said, running his fingers through Fingon's hair. "I want you to clean me up, since you left such a mess on my lap. And then I want you to finish me with your mouth, and swallow it. You got that, Finno?"

Fingon exhaled softly, nodding. He was swaying on his knees, though his arms looped around Maedhros’ legs kept him from moving too far. He glanced up at Maedhros finding that, though still dressed, he had begun to look disheveled. Turning back to his lover’s thighs he leaned down, wincing lightly as the movement shifted his rear slightly and that entire area was hot and stinging. He began with an open mouthed kiss above his prince’s knee, slow and worshipful, before he started to move across him. He licked and lathed and sucked, nose crinkling faintly. This did not hold the same appeal that licking their combined essences from Maedhros’ bare skin had, though Fingon did find himself enjoying the sounds he could pull from his lover and the quiet hitches in his breath. Moving up to the crease at the top of his inner thigh, Fingon nipped lightly through the cloth.

Maedhros breathed carefully and deeply so he didn’t pass out—this was so beautiful and breathtaking and the way the power rush went to his head probably wasn’t healthy either (though he had begun to admit to himself that he felt the same way when he was giving Fingon power over himself)—as he slid his trousers down to free his erection. “Uhh, Finno,” he sighed, and threw his head back at Fingon’s clever kisses. He held Fingon’s head still and brushed away remnants of tears with the pads of his thumbs, and bent down to kiss him sloppily, hungrily, tasting all of Fingon on his tongue. He was painfully hard now, so he guided Fingon’s lips where he needed them most and then released his hold.

Fingon brushed the softest of kisses against him, pressing against his tip and down, trailing kisses to the inside of his hip and back up, tracing a meandering path with the tip of his tongue. He took Maedhros into his mouth moaning softly, swallowing until his nose and forehead were pressed against Maedhros’ skin. He half-sprawled against his lover, held in place by his arms and Maedhros’ thighs as he hummed around him, pulling back to take a deep breath through his nose.

Tongue dancing along his cousin who was pressed to the back of his mouth, he turned his face and his eyes upward to watch Maedhros. He needed to see him, to know what he was doing, and even after coming to his own completion, he shook, feeling raw and desperate for his lover. He yearned for a soft caress or another stinging blow, for a word of praise or condemnation. Mouth full, he begged with watery eyes and gentle lips and the brush of his arms along his cousin’s legs as he worshipped Maedhros’ hröa and worked to satiate his lover’s need.

"Ai, aiyaaa, Finno," Maedhros groaned, balling his fists on his knees because Fingon was doing _everything_ right and he didn't want to mess this up. "It's--you're--you're so beautiful, so perfect." Finally he could stand it no longer but threaded his fingers through Fingon's hair, loving and needing all of this. "Fin-nnn-nnuhhclose, I'm close, Finno," he cried, suddenly urgent, and now he was helping Fingon along and spilling hard and hot into his lover's waiting and eager throat.

Fingon had time to take a deep breath and then began swallowing as Maedhros fell over the edge. He kept his eyes on Maedhros, head moving with Maedhros' hips as best he could. Hands tied below him and legs barely supporting him, Fingon found himself entirely at his lover's mercy as Maedhros spilled. He choked slightly, pulling up as his cousin finished and sucking to draw out his completion. Finally, he pulled back, licking at a few drops that had spilled onto his lips and chin. He laid his head on Maedhros' thigh, relaxing limply against him.

Still twitching and gasping, Maedhros leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Fingon's brow in silent thanks. "Valar, Finno. You--" there were no words. He thumbed at his chin, pushing a bit he missed into his waiting mouth, and to his eternal delight Fingon sucked down on his thumb. "I need--" he said suddenly, untangling his legs from Fingon's arms and pulling him onto the bed. "I need you up here, with me. You can talk now, you were so good. So perfect. Do you want me to untie you?" he said, laying Fingon carefully onto his back, though there was no way that wasn't going to sting.

Fingon opened his mouth to respond, though it took a few attempts before words came. As Maedhros moved him onto his back he found himself first mouthing the word fuck emphatically, eyes watering, though he refrained from actually screaming. “If you are willing. That would be nice.”

Maedhros nodded, undoing the knot and massaging his hands back to life, and kissing them as he hovered over Fingon. "I still want you on your back," he said, kissing Fingon's neck, "if you would still--if you still want to play?"

Fingon closed his eyes briefly and bit his lip as his breath caught. “Ai, melda heru. Thy desires shall be mine.” He swallowed roughly, body torn between the pleasant sensation of Maedhros’ lips on his skin and the persistent stinging that grew worse every time he moved and urged him to shift onto his side or better still his stomach. “What would have of me, betrothed?”

"Mm," Maedhros said, unhurried as he kissed and worshiped Fingon's perfect hröa. "Tell me if you hurt, truly," he said, and pulled back to meet Fingon's eyes. "Later I was going to care for your injuries, but I could do so at any time. Right now, I--I want to see you undone again, if I may," he said, kissing and touching Fingon lightly.

Fingon whimpered. “I… ah, if you will. It--it hurts, but I’m alright for the moment. It would please me to come undone for you if that is your wish.”  He looked at Maedhros hesitantly. “May I touch you as well, melda?”

Maedhros sucked in a breath, and grinned. "Please, yes," he said, and slung a leg over Fingon's legs so he covered him entirely. "I love you so much. So beautiful, so warm and strong. Ah, Finno. I can smell you. I want you. I want you so much. I don't want to wait," he sighed, mouthing at Fingon's skin, biting gently, his fingers wandering.

“You shouldn’t tempt me; I can barely remember why we want to wait.” Fingon’s mouth curved up in a small smile as he wrapped an arm around Maedhros to stroke the length of his back. He other arm moved higher, fingers petting Maedhros’ head and combing through his hair.

Maedhros laughed suddenly. "Well at one point the aim was so I could convince myself I wasn't as thoroughly wicked and depraved as I fear I am--but I just _spanked_ you and tied your wrists while you sucked me off so--I don't know what kind of purity I think I have." He kissed Fingon's chest, and licked a nipple, huffing warm breath over the area. "And that's not even counting last night."

“You’re no more wicked than I am-” Fingon arched up against the mouth on his chest, gasping before he could continue his thought. “And you didn’t-- you wouldn’t _really_ hurt me. I liked it-- like it Russ.” He sighed, stroking Maedhros’ flank though Fingon tried to keep his own back and legs still. “What was wrong with last night? We weren’t quite sober, but I remember all of it and…  it was beautiful. Coming together with you brings me light and joy and pleasure. It was hardly wicked.”

Maedhros paused, smile frozen on his face. "I--" and then his face scrunched. "I don't--know?" If it brought mutual pleasure, then certainly-- "But tying your hands, surely that's not..." Right? Normal? Maedhros felt on the verge of thinking something large and important and possibly dangerous. Their people's laws and customs did not exactly forbid it, but even if they did, could Maedhros defy them so blatantly for his pleasure? For Fingon's pleasure? Were they not already violating them, being close relations and two ner? Their customs were not even four generations old yet, and for that matter who decided what their laws were?

“Acceptable? Right?” Fingon suggested. He sat up, hissing and grimacing at the movement, so that they were both sitting, on the bed, Maedhros atop his legs. “Russ, why is it _anyone’s_ business what two consenting neri do behind closed doors, so long as neither is being harmed?” He took Maedhros’ hands in his own, and kissed Maedhros lightly before pressing their foreheads together. “I love you, Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol. You are the other half of my fëa, and my life is not complete without you in it.”

 He pulled back, brushing their noses together playfully. “And if you wish to take the concern of staying still away from me, and let a length of fabric help take on that duty that I might relax in pleasure, what of it? We were both well aware I could get out of those knots if I wanted to. You left me a verbal out, and a physical one, and besides that would never do anything to harm me. So what is inappropriate about sharing pleasure with my future husband?” He squeezed Maedhros’ hands as he waited for him to think on what Fingon had said.

"Nothing, Findekáno," he promised, pulling him close. "And be assured I question only the nearer and nearer reality of our union becoming public. I would never and will never question the fact of that union. If we were ostracized and banished to Middle-earth I would count it nothing so long as you were with me. I only begin to wonder..." But he shook his head, and smiled at Fingon, taking his hands and kissing his knuckles. "I am sorry. Where were we?"

Fingon frowned faintly, unable to entirely set aside his concern. “We were together, as we always are. And I do hope you’re not planning to make our bedroom activities public and in explicit detail- judging by your reaction when uncle found us (which was worse than mine, which just shouldn’t have been the case), I don’t think you want that either. So why would anyone know if you like to hit me a little, or if I like to tie you off to force back your completion?” He sighed, and shook his head. “Well, if we are banished, I shall go with you and we’ll make the best of it. We’ll make a kingdom of our own and design and build our own cities and forges and make our own rules.” He reached up to cup Maedhros’ cheek. “But for now, will you kiss me?”

Maedhros huffed. "I will. And no, no one will ever know. I'll get a bolt for that door if I have to." Maedhros grinned almost wolfishly and growled against Fingon's neck, biting and licking, and his hands wandered further down until he cupped Fingon's groin. "I am very jealous of this and I do not like to even think about anyone else touching or even seeing it." He bit Fingon's ear lightly.

Fingon whined. “No one will. I’m yours, hröa and fëa. Oh!” He jerked lightly in Maedhros’ palm, wincing at the pain-pleasure of the motion. “You’re teasing,” he complained, tugging on Maedhros’ hair. He reached over to trail light fingers over his lover’s sex in protest, barely brushing against him.

"Uhh," Maedhros moaned, and stroked him in earnest. "So I am. And you are teasing me. Maybe I should have left your hands bound," he said, sliding his fingers through Fingon's perfect hair and arched away from his touch. "I want to see /you/ undone, remember?"

“’s unfair, Russ,” Fingon complained, though he lay back at  Maedhros’ gentle touch and returned his hand to Maedhros’ back, only dipping so low as the bottom of it. Fingon's body was rising in desire, though he found himself riding the edge of pain and pleasure more closely than he had cared to in the past. It felt dangerous, and it felt intense. “Russ,” he exhaled, hand fingering his cousin's hair. “You’re still teasing. Why, my prince? Wasn’t I good for you? Wasn’t I a good boy who lay down and took my spanking and never tried to stop you or move away?”

Maedhros bit his lip and drew in a gasp. "Yes, of course, my darling. My beautiful, perfect Findekáno, my love--you were so good for me--always--I just want to see you spend once more, for me. Want to see your eyes." He pulled his hand back. "Do you want it another way? You on top? Do you want my mouth on you? I just want to see you, hold you through it--and then I want to tuck you into bed while you're still weak and tend your pink skin so it doesn't hurt as much and lay down next to you and hold you until morning."

Fingon shook his head, at this point unable to pick from what Maedhros offered. “Anything, just… ah!...  need to finish. Need more. Please help me finish. And then the rest- want to be near you, with you.” He looked up at Maedhros beseechingly.

"Always, always, my love. My treasure, my joy, my purpose," Maedhros chanted, his hand pumping in time to his words. "Want your seed in my hand, I want to lick it off, taste it. Want you coming apart in my arms at my word, my Findekáno." He leaned down to press kisses to his flushed cheeks, and licked his ear, "Come for me, Fin," he whispered, and twisted his wrist, and held Fingon tight.

Fingon arched, straining, and was pulled back slightly by the pain that seemed to be coming from everywhere below him. It took a few more strokes before his body was able to comply with Maedhros’ order and he spent with a soft sound, burying his face in Maedhros’ neck as he shook and spilled. “Valar,” he whispered against his cousin’s skin. “You complete me, Russ. And you undo me.”

"And you complete me," Maedhros promised, huffing as Fingon spilled in his hand. And he did lick it up, cleaning Fingon entirely once his eyes had opened and he blinked sleepily, wearily up at him. Maedhros kissed those eyes, so trusting, so warm. "Now let me take care of this for you," he hummed, helping Fingon to flip over. "I will be right back," he said, kissing Fingon's shoulder, and ran to the watercloset.

A soft sigh of contentment made its way across the room as Fingon stretched out on his stomach, his irritated skin finally, blessedly free of contact. The air felt cool and soothing and when he glanced back his skin was still an angry red. Fingon dropped his head heavily onto the bed, pleased to stay without moving while he waited for Maedhros to return.

Maedhros returned quickly with a pot of cooling salve with aloe and some other things that smelled nice, as well as some other supplies. "This should feel better," he said, "stop me if I hurt you--damn, I hope you don't bruise..." he muttered, coating the area liberally, and gently, with the salve, while with his other hand he rubbed harder and focused circles into Fingon's back.

Flinching at the first deliberate touches, Fingon carefully settled, letting the salve do its work. It did feel cool and helped to remove the stinging where it was applied. “Thank you, Russ,” he said quietly. “It’s already helping quite a bit.” His eyes drifted shut as he let his cousin work above him until the task was complete and the raw areas were cooled and numbed.

"Almost done," Maedhros whispered, laying a soft damp cloth over the area and patting it softly down until it stuck. "Here, now, don't move, let me do this for you--" he said, and slid some short breeches on over this, to keep the cloth and the salve in place. "And now we'll put you to bed," he said, helping Fingon move under the covers, never taking his hands off him. "Are you comfortable? How do you want to sleep?"

“May I sleep on you tonight?” Fingon asked quietly, relishing the contact with Maedhros.

"Mm," Maedhros said, "I would like that very much." He settled on his back and pulled Fingon almost entirely on top of him, tucking him against his chest and pulling warm blankets over the both of them. "All right? I'm not sure how comfortable I am."

“Perfect, melda, as long as this is good for you.” Fingon sighed in pleasure, relaxing against his cousin. They lay quietly for a few minutes before Fingon spoke again. “Russ, could we do something?”

"Anything you like," Maedhros answered, kissing Fingon's hair and rubbing his arms absently.

Fingon shivered lightly, but pushed himself to speak. “A few years from now, I would enjoy another evening like this with my husband. But after you are pleased with what you’ve done to my hröa, with how red you’ve made me, instead of having me spend across your legs and putting me before you on my knees, I would like for you to take me, to fill me. Could we do that?” He tucked his head against Maedhros’ chest as he spoke, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

Maedhros flushed at this admission, and grinned widely, and threw his arms around Fingon's shoulders and pulled him into a wet kiss. "Of course, my love," he whispered, feeling himself twitch interestedly. "I might strike you once I was firmly seated in you, just to see what it felt like," he whispered, a half-promise. "Would you like that? All before I let you spend?"

He nodded, color rising in his face.

Maedhros nodded back, hungrily, eagerly. "Thank you, thank you," he whispered, letting Fingon move him, and calming, settling, feeling better here. "Please," he responded to the last request, and opened his mouth, begging. “V-very much. If such a thought pleases thee as well.” He shivered at the thought of it, but he wanted to explore the feelings Maedhros awoke in him this night. Then a new thought occurred and he smiled mischievously. “I also have to find a way to get you back for this, I suppose. But what can I do to you that would be so powerful? For even if I’m hurting a bit now, what we just did was incredible, at least on my part.”

Maedhros pondered. "Well, I was going to make you promise to also do the same to me," he said with a soft (and shy) grin. "But I suppose that's uncreative. But it is late, and we have time and love enough. There is not a configuration of love I would not enjoy as long as it was bound up with you." He kissed Fingon between his eyes. "So rest now. We will have more time for play tomorrow--you will have all day with a sore backside to plot your revenge, I think." And he laughed, and Fingon bounced on his chest. "I love you, ammoina Findekáno."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more really smutty chapter for now (this one). Afterwards, the story will continue with return of Nerdanel and the younger Fëanorians! Adventures with the twins including tree climbing are promised. :)

The next morning Fingon woke warm and limp. He could have been sleeping on the hearth near a fire for all the heat Maedhros provided, and his rear was sore and still felt slightly warm. He sighed, stretching his arms out, and draping one near Maedhros’ head to twine a segment of his hair. His lover’s eyes were still closed, so Fingon gently turned to press a soft kiss to the center of his chest before relaxing against him, sated and rested and pleased. At the moment, the thought of the previous night did not even bring with it a flush of embarrassment. He was perfectly content, and thought he enjoyed this position as much as waking up with Maedhros sprawled across him.

Maedhros struggled to wake, somehow aware that Fingon was already awake. "Go back to sleep," he mumbled, throwing an arm around Fingon's back until--snorting, starting up, "Oh, do you hurt? is your rear all right?" He was squinting through eyes unready for the morning's glow, and he was perfectly comfortable with Fingon sprawled atop him like a heated blanket (his feet stuck out the bottom of the blanket, without which he would have been too warm). And while part of him wickedly wanted Fingon to sting all day, as a reminder of him, an equal part was just as horrified. "’Msorry."

“Wha--for?” Fingon interrupted his response with a yawn and afterwards laughed lightly at Maedhros’ concern. “’m fine. Just,” he shifted slightly, “sore. And I still feel like I’m burning down there. I’ll need more of your salve in a little while.” He moved one hand down, lightly touching the area and wincing. “Did you sleep well? Is it alright if I stay here? You’re comfortable.” Fingon reached up slightly to kiss his lover good morning. “And it feels like you’re enjoying this,” Fingon added, grinding down slightly.

"Uhh," Maedhros groaned, and he smiled, pulling Fingon to him. "I do rather like the thought of you sore and reminded of me every minute," he confessed. "Please stay here. And stop wiggling, unless you want me to reverse our positions." He grinned, eyes still closed.

With a quiet whimper, Fingon settled back against him. “Mmm. Delightful as that sounds, I _hurt_. This doesn’t count as me wiggling, alright?” Fingon carefully detached the loose trousers and cloth Maedhros had placed over him and settled against his cousin once more. Fingon smiled, pressing soft kisses to Maedhros’ chest before nuzzling against it, and looking as if he could easily fall asleep again.

Maedhros huffed and hummed, wrapping his arms around Fingon and closing his eyes. "I love you, Findekáno," he sighed. "I am so glad you are here. Let us stay abed all day. You could take your slow revenge on me all day and I would have no desire to leave you."

Fingon stretched lazily moving his arms over Maedhros’ chest and resting his chin on them so that he could see his cousin. “Didn’t I tell you last night not to temp me?” He smiled. “That would be wonderful, beloved, but I think I’m too… sated and relaxed to bother with revenge right now--though I’ll keep that in mind. And Aunt Nerdanel should be arriving today, which means another big day for us.” He kissed Maedhros. “Do you think she’ll be pleased?”

"I know she will," Maedhros insisted. "The Ambarussa already always feel cheated when you are not constantly with us. They will be glad to see you. And Curvo really only bites those he loves." He snorted. "And we know Tyelko and Moryo approve. They should be back from their hunt by the end of the week."

Fingon wrapped his arms around Maedhros’ neck and clung to them. He was nervous, scared even, that his father and brother would not be so quick to approve as Feanor and Celegorm and Maglor had been. And while he wanted Maedhros no matter what, he wanted his cousin to have as warm a welcome from his immediate family as had been granted him--though without Fingolfin walking in on them in an intimate moment. “Then it will be wonderful,” he said quietly. “And the Ambarussa like having different faces around, but you know that you’re the Elda they truly adore. I’ve seen them watching you while you’re at work, or sparring and don’t realize their eyes are on you. They look at on you as a hero, as a great prince.” Fingon squeezed him. “Which you are.”

Maedhros huffed. "Yes, well, but they are small." He shrugged. "We all love each other very much. You will be no different." He leaned up and kissed Fingon gently. "I love waking up with you, Finno, you must know it. I love you. I look forward to the day where this will be ordinary. I do not think I could ever take it for granted."

“Nor I, arimelda. I could wake beside you or under you or above you a thousand, thousand times and not tire of it. I love thee.” Fingon shifted again, and then pushed himself up slightly. “Where did you put the pot of salve? I need to grab it.”

"No, stay, I will get it," Maedhros said, sliding Fingon to the bed and getting up. "Let me." He grabbed the salve and returned to kiss Fingon's shoulder. "It is the least I can do after you let me turn your arse such a lovely shade of pink." He coated his fingers and began working the cooling salve into Fingon's still tender-looking skin.

“Oh, you’ll be doing more than that,” Fingon teased. He relaxed, sprawling across the bed. “Once I can be bothered to figure something out. And I’m still pink?” He attempted to look over his shoulder, catching a brief glimpse of the skin. “Ow. You evil ner.” He grinned at Maedhros. “Thank you, Russ. When you’re finished, will you come back here?”

"Findekáno, you know I will do anything and everything you ask of me, tenn ambar metta." He applied more salve and crawled up the bed to kiss Fingon.  "I am here, my love."

Fingon returned the kiss enthusiastically. When they parted, he tucked a stray strand of hair back behind Maedhros’ ear. “I don’t really want to move onto my back again, but you took such good care of me… may I return the favor?” Maedhros had woken aroused and a quick glance showed that that had not entirely subsided.

"Oh, Fingon," Maedhros protested with a grateful smile, "I am all right. We can go to breakfast."

His cousin quirked an eyebrow. “Really, Russ? I mean, if you’re absolutely certain, I wouldn’t want to force you to do anything…” Fingon gave Maedhros a look that was half inquisitive and half threatening, but he did not begin to move off the bed or prepare in any way to head to breakfast.

"I, ah--well, I suppose. If you would rather?" Maedhros flushed. Leave it to Findekáno to make an awkward mess of him. He kissed Fingon again. "Well I am making a bad start to being ruled by you, today," he said with a sheepish smile. "I would like that very much," he corrected.

“Much better.” Fingon grinned. “Especially when I’m trying to be nice.” Not that the act would be entirely selfless--Fingon was certain he received almost as much pleasure from the act of pleasuring Maedhros as his cousin did. “Would you sit up at the top of the bed? That way I can stay like this.” He motioned vaguely towards where he wanted Maedhros to sit.

"Mm," Maedhros nodded, sliding up to the top of the bed and sitting with his back to the headboard. "Like this?" He asked, smiling, letting his legs fall apart.

“Mhmm.” Fingon rubbed his leg appreciatively before squirming up to lie between Maedhros’ spread thighs. He glanced up at his cousin. “You’re very beautiful, melda.” Leaning down he took Maedhros’ tip in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue and sucking gently. Then he released him with a slight pop, meeting his betrothed’s eyes. “And I love you. Have I told you how much I love you yet today?’ He kept on hand stroking his cousin’s thigh and brought the other up to squeeze and roll his sac before descending again with mouth and tongue as Maedhros finished hardening.

Maedhros hissed and writhed, threading his fingers through Fingon's hair. "I--" he gasped. "I like it so much more when you show me."

“I would do anything for you, my Russandol.” Fingon licked at him delicately. “Hmm, will you put your hands on the headboard, Russ? Just let me take care of you.” He ducked back down, trailing soft kisses along Maedhros’ skin and drawing him fully into his mouth. The fingers that had been rolling him trailed back even further, pressing on the tender skin just behind his sac and rubbing along it.

"Aaahh--" he whined slightly, holding onto the metal rungs in the headboard behind him and arching into Fingon's delicious mouth. "Ai, Finno," he said, and bucked. "I know you will ta--ah!--take care of me." He had indeed already been so aroused, he moaned into Fingon helplessly.

Fingon hummed around him, head moving faster as he sought to bring Maedhros to a quick and pleasant end. As he felt Maedhros draw closer to the edge, he swallowed his lover, and moved fingers trailing across his skin further back. He scraped him lightly with a hint of teeth, and the next time descended when he swallowed around Maedhros he pressed a fingertip into his center.

Maedhros keened, nearly cracking his head against the headboard behind him as he thrashed, and tightened instinctively around the intrusion, the surprise keeping him from falling over the edge, though he only grew harder. "Ughhh sorry, soryy," he mumbled. "'M not very good at this. Sorry. I'm okay." He took a careful breath and settled back, giving Fingon the access he desired.

Fingon wiggled the finger slightly deeper, and rubbed his thumb along the edge where it entered Maedhros’ body. He let Maedhros fall from his mouth. “You are excellent at this,” Fingon informs him. “You are wonderful, and beautiful, and all you’re supposed to be doing is relaxing and enjoying.” He leaned down to nip at the tip of Maedhros’ arousal and jerked the finger inside him. “I’ll worry about retribution for last night later.” Then he bent back down, trying to take Maedhros over the edge with teeth and tongue and rippling throat.

"Ai, ai, aiaahhh," Maedhros cried, throwing his head back and writhing, his thighs shifting. "Ahh, Finn--nnuhh, please, please," he whined, arching into Fingon's mouth, into his fingers. "Close, close, p-puhh--lease, ai, Finno!"

Fingon pulled off long enough to wet a second finger. “Yes, yes Russandol. Want you to spend for me. Want to watch you release, to feel you finish in me.” He swallowed Maedhros roughly, two fingers pressing into him and curving, quickly locating his bundle of nerves and nudging and rubbing against it.

"Ohhvaa--" Maedhros cried, bucking into Fingon's mouth, almost losing his sight as Fingon touched him deep. "Finn--I--I--" and he was spilling hot into Fingon's mouth, arching entirely off the bed before falling back, legs shaking and twitching, breath coming in sharp gasps, white knuckling the headboard behind him.

Fingon drew out his release until Maedhros’ breath hitched in pain-pleasure before letting him slip from his mouth. Carefully, he withdrew his fingers and dropped his head on Maedhros’ thigh, gazing up at him. Fingon found himself panting as well, feeling worn out and wrung out and pleasantly sated. ”Y-you can let go.” He gestured vaguely towards one of Maedhros’ hands.

"Ahh," Maedhros sighed, returning his hands weakly to Fingon's hair. "Tha--thank you, Findekáno," he said. "That was--" no words could describe it, so he fell silent. After a moment, once he could move, he shifted, curling around Fingon and bundling them together closely. "Thank you." But he made no other effort to move, though his feet were on his pillow. "Breakfast--soon--" he wiped a bit of seed from the corner of Fingon's mouth with a grin. "But not yet."

Fingon sighed happily. He could feel the heat from Maedhros around him, and the waterfall of his cousin’s hair brushed against his skin. “I could stay like this all day,” Fingon murmured. “This feels perfect. Love this; love you. Thank you.”

"Love you," Maedhros returned, and leaned in to kiss Fingon. After a few more moments he heaved himself upright, and gathered Fingon into his arms. "Would a cold bath ease the pain you're in?" he said, still worried.

“I’m okay--a little raw, but the salve helped.” Fingon nuzzled into Maedhros’ neck, allowing his eyes to fall shut. He was, as always, amazed by his lover’s strength, by the fact that Maedhros’ could lift him as though he were no heavier than one of the Ambarussa. “A cold bath would be nice. With you, right?”

Maedhros grinned. “Well, naturally. We can use the bathtub in the main washroom. The door _does_ have a lock.” He winked. “I could use a bath after yesterday’s climb and…well, other things,” he added, blushing: “And a cool bath would wake me—and keep me from getting too interested in you.” He threw on some light trousers, slipped into his robe, and scooped Fingon into his arms. He held Fingon under knees and arms, but tossed a long robe over his lap. “Shall we?” he asked, kissing Fingon’s neck.

Fingon looped his arms about him, smiling. “Please. That sounds wonderful.” He turned to meet Maedhros’ lips with his own, cupping a palm over his cousin’s cheek. “Tyë melin, ammoina. Tenn’ ambar-metta.” He smiled, and snuggled into his lover’s arms, relaxing and giving himself over to Maedhros’ care. He smiled softly, unable to put in words how blissful he felt held in Maedhros’ arms as he was. This was his future- this was to be his life. And Maitimo--perfect, precious Russandol--was everything he could ever want. And spoiled him so- at times like this morning and even at times like the night before when he… Fingon flushed at turned his face in to Maedhros’ chest.

Maedhros snorted softly as he carried Fingon out into the hall: all was silent but for the sounds of tuning strings coming from Maglor's room. "Are you all right?" he checked and kissed his forehead. He had to set Fingon down to fill the bath--a large, extravagant bath built into the floor--with water that was brisk and smelled of cool and green things. "Normally we have a rotation for this bath," he laughed. "Only with half the family gone I feel justified breaking it." He hissed at the coolness of the water and invited Fingon in. "Do you think the water's all right?"

“Feels nice.” Fingon nodded, stepping lower into the sunken bath. The water was cool and soothing, though his skin tightened with gooseflesh as he stepped deeper. He submerged briefly before moving forward, straddling Maedhros’ legs where he sat. “Thank you for breaking your rotation for me,” he added with a grin. “This is nice--luxurious and very pleasant… I think I’m slightly jealous of you.” Fingon thought for a second, and tilted his head with a small smile. “I would very much like to use this when I’m living here, though I’m not sure how your brothers would react to adding another person to the rotation- perhaps I can join you for your rotations, instead?”

Maedhros grinned. "You know I was thinking the same thing. How thoughtful of you. My brothers will hardly be put out by your presence." He wrapped his arms around Fingon, pulling him closer for warmth. Even in spite of the cold, brushing against his cousin on his lap was a temptation too great, and he moaned softly. "Ai, Finno, I am so glad you are here, that you are mine. I love you," he sighed, kissing behind his jaw.

Fingon made an appreciative sound, hand moving to cup the back of Maedhros’ head. “And I you,” he whispered. He rocked his hips gently. “I am glad as well--there is no other I could love as well as you. Or who would love me so strongly in return. And you take such good care of me, Russ.” He moved to catch Maedhros’ mouth in a warm kiss that slowly deepened.

"Oh how I want you," Maedhros moaned, in between their tongues sliding together. "How I want to be yours."

“Soon,” Fingon promised. “You shall be mine and I shall be yours. And no power shall have the strength to keep us apart.” He slipped as he moved, and fell against Maedhros, pressing against him from chest to waist. “Mmm. Even in cold water you’re like a furnace. It’s nice.”

Maedhros smiled, holding Fingon close and kissing him, rocking his hips slightly. "You feel so good to me, too. Comfortable, soft--well," he laughed, because there was a part of him that was not very soft. "And strong," he added hurriedly.

“I’m working to get stronger,” Fingon groused, nipping at Maedhros’ neck. “And you’re comfortable as well- smooth, lithe, strong- I think the closest thing to perfection is being in your arms.” He wrapped a hand around them both, stroking them together momentarily. “And you just feel good,” he added with a huff of laughter, pulling back to look around the bath for soap and a cloth. Spotting them, he leaned over Maedhros, stretching to lay his hand on both. “Shall I wash you, beloved, or did you have other plans first?”

"You are getting stronger," Maedhros insisted, before Fingon's fingers robbed him of all thought. "Ai, Finno," he whispered into Fingon's hair, freeing his plaits. "We have to be quiet in here." He couldn't believe he already had to spend /again/. He laid his hand over the top of Fingon's, over both their sexes, and stroked, hissing and gasping into Fingon's neck.

Fingon’s breath hitched and he let out a small whimper at the feel of Maedhros’ hand over his own, pressing Fingon’s hand into a firmer grip and guiding his strokes. “Russ,” he choked, baring his neck, and gripping Maedhros’ shoulder tightly with his free hand. “Ah! Mmm- melda!” He began to twist their hands on each stroke, hips and thighs moving slightly to thrust into their combined grip. “Ready again so soon, arimelda?” Fingon tilted his head to speak into Maedhros’ ear. “You flatter me.” He nipped gently along the edge before taking the point of Maedhros’ ear into his mouth.

Maedhros whined at Fingon's teeth on his ear. "No bath is cold enough to cool my desire for you," he whispered, pressing kisses to Fingon's neck. "Oh Valar, I want to be in you. It's not fair how much I love you." His fingers traveled back to test Fingon's entrance, still loose from last night. "Does it hurt?" He checked.

Shaking his head, Fingon loosed a feeble noise. “Feels good. I always want you on me, in me. Will you, Russ? For me?” He pressed back lightly against his lover’s fingers without stopping the movement of their joined hands.

"I want," Maedhros gasped, "I want you always full of me. Is it wrong of me to desire such a thing? To stuff you full with myself and--and with toys, to keep you open for me." He huffed softly, crooking a finger inside. "Would you like that, Fin?"

“I- I--” Fingon shook his head, unable to respond. “Not--not when I’m training or sparring,” he said finally. “But on days when we’re relaxing together or maybe spending time at the cabin again, I--” he broke off with a gasp as Maedhros moved his finger deeper, finding and pressing against a spot deep inside him. He quivered. “I would like that. Please, Russ. More?” Fingon dropped the hand wrapped around them, brining it up to cling to Maedhros while his other hand burrowed into Maedhros’ hair, grabbing firmly near the roots. “But don’t finish. I want you desperate and needing me after this.” He looked to Maedhros, checking that this was something Russ wanted, that he as willing to do right now.

Maedhros whined slightly, and though it frightened him it also thrilled him (as much as the thought of Fingon filled with him, for even an entire day, thrilled and aroused him), as he remembered today was Fingon's revenge and how could he /not/ enjoy such a thing? He gasped, swallowed carefully, and nodded, pressing more fingers and deeper, and shifted his grip so he was only stroking Fingon. "I am ever desperate for you," he promised in a whisper, kissing him.

“Not as desperate as you’ll be tonight,” Fingon promised when they broke apart, stroking Maedhros’ cheek fondly. “Can you imagine that?” Fingon asked thinking back on Maedhros’ desire. He thought of what Maedhros was suggested, and about what effect that would have on his cousin. “Keeping me open for days or for a week when we went up to the cabin?” He sucked a mark into Maedhros collarbone, before nipping gentle along his throat, murmuring thoughts and ideas at his betrothed. “Perhaps I could wear my outfit that you so like, and wander around fully revealed to you, stuffed and wanting and needing.” He whimpered against Maedhros, thrusting back and forth between his hand and his fingers. “You w-wouldn’t have to wait, wouldn’t have to stretch me or let me stretch myself, Russ. You could just pull whatever toy out and press in. I’d be hot and w-wet and ready for you whenever you wanted me, however you wanted me.”

Maedhros whined at the thought, and his hips jerked involuntarily. "Hhnnnuuhh, Fin," he gasped, imagining all of Fingon's curves and muscles visible to him, all while he was stuffed and wet and desperate and--and Maedhros did not think this through. This was driving him wild when it was supposed to drive Fingon wild. "Yes," he keened, trying again to find friction against Fingon's body. "Yes, please."

Fingon grabbed him quickly, not providing any friction but with a hint of pressure around his base. “Not. Yet.” He warned with a brief squeeze. Then he was biting his lip, caught over Maedhros and against Maedhros as his lover continued to drive him closer to the edge. His eyes slid shut as he worked himself back and forth between Maedhros’ hands. “Tell me,” he breathed, begged, demanded. “Tell me what you want to do, when we’re married and back at the cabin and have all of these toys. Tell me what a day would be like, what would best please you.”

Maedhros nodded, hissing, and leaned his brow against Fingon's, closing his eyes. "Sorry, sorry," he panted, shifting his focus to Fingon, pressing deeper, twisting harder. "No clothes," he managed. "For either of us. You will get the warmth you need from me. Mm--maybe that gossamer gown, sometimes. And you will eat your fill and I will take my fill of you."

Fingon keened, hips beginning to jerk of their own volition. “Y-yes. I’d like that. I want that Russ, with you. For us. A-aai!” He dropped his head back, exposing his throat to his lover as he shook and trembled in his grasp, careening towards the edge at Maedhros’ heat and his hands and his words and at the hitches in his breath as Fingon spoke to him.

Maedhros latched on with his teeth and lips, worrying at Fingon's exposed throat as he added a third finger and stroked him faster. "Shh, shhh, Findekáno. Once we are wed you can shout all you want to--and shout you will, you'll beg me for mercy, beg me not to make you spend again, for all we'll do is make love until we're both exhausted. And--and when I've spent inside you, made you mine and filled you of me, I'll slide one of our toys inside you, keep you open for me while I make dinner, and you'll squirm like that until you're desperate and needy again, and you'll be ready for me."

Fingon stuffed a fist in his mouth to try to muffle his scream, back arching as he came. “R-Russ, Russ, oh Russ, my Russ,” he whimpered. His head rolled back and forth as he shook and trembled, grateful for the surrounding water that helped him to stay upright rather than falling off his cousin. “Valar, Russ,” he whispered. “I-- I can’t.” He twitched as Maedhros drew out the last of his release and Fingon slumped against him.

Maedhros kissed Fingon softly, all along his neck and cheek, petting his hair and gentling him. "That's good, that's my Finno. I didn't hurt you, did I?" His own arousal still strained against him, but was manageable now, with Fingon's need taken care of.

Fingon shook his head against Maedhros shoulder taking several deep breaths. “Never, Russ. You never hurt me.” He placed a tender kiss on the skin and then moved to press their lips together. “That was wonderful, Russ,” he murmured. “But what about you?” He ran a finger teasingly along his lover’s length. “Hmm. I really should just leave you like this, after hearing what you want to do with me. Could you last all day, Russ? Seeing me, and touching me, but never truly having me and never being granted release?” He looked down to where his fingers ran along Maedhros’ length, then back to him. “Tell me, will you do something for me, beloved?”

Maedhros whined quietly, pupils dilating as he thought of going the rest of the day like this. He might manage it, but he would hate it, and yet, to be under Fingon's power like that, to give himself to Fingon--yes, he would enjoy that. He was shaking now, trembling in the cool water, but not from cold. He nodded, mouth dry. "Anything for you, arimelda."

Fingon smiled, taking Maedhros’ hands in his own and kissing them gently. He was awed by Maedhros’ trust in him, by his willingness to endure whatever Fingon asked of him. “Perhaps some time when we’re alone for a while… and perhaps on that trip to the cabin after you’ve had me for a few days stuffed and at your mercy I’ll treat you to the same. But for now, with a busy day ahead, I think any real plans I can come up with had best wait for tonight.” He leaned in for another soft kiss before slipping off of Maedhros, to the center of the water, shivering slightly. “Anything for me?” He asked rhetorically. “Then I would like to have you flip over, and lay yourself partly across the tile, with your hips and legs still in the bath. Would you do that for me?”

Maedhros' breath hitched, his imagination running ahead, though he did not dare to follow it far. He nodded dumbly, standing up in the bath and struggling to obey. "L-like this?" he asked, dizzily.

“That’s perfect, melda.” When Maedhros was comfortably sprawled across the floor Fingon stroked a hand down his back, rubbing it softly. He pressed Maedhros’ legs apart gently, moving between them. “I’d like to taste you, if that’s alright. May I?”

Maedhros whimpered, and nodded. "Aren't you cold in the bath?" he wondered.

“Quite,” Fingon replied agreeably. “Now that you mention it--“ he moved back to play with the faucet, adding fresh, hot water to the tub. “Where was I? Tasting you, right?” He sank down being Maedhros, reaching up to caress his back, and then his cheeks, before using both hands to spread him and licking gently. He circled Maedhros’ hole, playing with the skin around it, before darting his tongue in once and pulling back. “You taste lovely, melda; I could do this all day. Does it feel good?” He leaned back down, intending to continue playing with Maedhros’ body while he waited for an answer.

Aiyaaahh, I do," Maedhros said, pressing his forehead into his arms. "Yes, it feels--it feels--warm and gentle and--" his leg twitched. "Don't stop, please." He shuddered. "C-can I--can I come?"

Fingon pulled back, leaving Maedhros empty where he had been slowly working him open with his tongue. “Shh- hush, Rus. You’re alright.” Fingon went back to rubbing a soothing hand along the center of his back. “Not yet. I want you to hold on a little longer, but I promise to take care of you, Russ.” Fingon slid back to the faucet, grabbing the jar of bath oil and moving it to a spot on the tile close to Maedhros. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, hand immediately going to the small of Maedhros’ back comfortingly. “You’re doing so well, Russ. You’re incredible like this, spread out for me.” He leaned down to lick over his lover’s entrance one more time before coating a hand in the bath oil and breaching Maedhros with a slick finger. “How does that feel, beloved?”

Maedhros felt his stomach drop--but in a wonderful way. He wasn't used to this, though they were nearly seven years on (six years, two-hundred and ninety-one--two, now--days). He was not afraid exactly, nor was he squeamish about it as he once was, either physically or because of who should be on top or whatever his concern used to be. They just didn't do this--often. He _liked_ Fingon's hands on him, _in_ him, he _liked_ being spread out for Fingon. His breath hitched and he made a soft noise, but he did not tighten (unless his spine tightened), and, "Good, yes, please," he whispered.

“More?” Fingon added a second finger. Leaning over him because he desired more contact, Fingon began placing gentle kisses against Maedhros’ spine, scissoring his fingers before slowly, carefully, adding a third. When Maedhros quivered beneath him Fingon felt himself twitch though it was far too soon for his own body to show interest. “Valar, Maitimo. What you do to me.” He shook his head, placing a new row of soft kisses. Then he withdrew, sliding his fingers out. He pushed fully away from Maedhros, dipping his fingers into the oil one more time and moving to the far side of the bath, turning off the faucet as he passed it.

Maedhros did not move (Fingon hadn't said he could move yet), but he lifted his head, looking around. His body tensed up, his entrance clenching. He needed desperately to finish, and he whined before he could stop himself. "Fin? Please--where--?"

Fingon had seated himself tentatively, close to the warmer water. He still felt a sore ache as though he had had a day of bad falls while sparring, but he was not in significant pain. “Over here, Russ. Shh, it’s okay. You can move; I want you to come over here for me.” Fingon was seated on the tub in a mirror image of how Maedhros had looked several minutes before. “I want you on top of me, just like I was on you earlier. If you want that as well, you need to come over here, on my lap.”

Shaking, stumbling through the water, Maedhros approached, a nervous smile on his face and a flush to his cheek. "Like this?" he said, straddling his lap. "I'm too heavy for you..."

“I thought you said I was getting stronger?” Fingon brought one hand to Maedhros’ face, tucking back errand strands of hair and pulling him close for a kiss. “You’re perfect, melda. And besides, we’re in the water. Unless you mean you don’t want to do this, in which case please tell me.” Maedhros did not move, and Fingon slowly ran his hands down, slipping his oiled hand back within Maedhros with a soft sigh at the velvety heat surrounding his fingers. “You feel amazing, Russandol.” He met his cousin’s eyes. “And Valar, I want to be inside you. Just like this. I ache for it even now.” Fingon encircled his lover’s arousal with his free hand. “You can move beloved. As much as you need to.” And as Fingon began to move in him and around him, he thought that the look on Maedhros’ face was perhaps the most beautiful sight he would be treated to all day.

Maedhros was afire with nerves, but this time when Fingo breached him, it made him feel--better--it made him feel good, easier instead of more nervous. He sighed breathily and nodded, rocking forward against Fingon. "Mm-m-me too," he whispered. "I want this, want you--i-in me." He took Fingon's face in his hands and kissed him.

Moaning into the kiss, Fingon gripped Maedhros tighter. He twisted the fingers inside Maedhros reveling in the way it made his lover shake. “Arimelda,” he murmured. “Can you take another finger for me?” And at Maedhros’ nod he began working in his smallest finger, a thrill shooting through him at the way Maedhros shifted back against his hand and /took/ him. “Oh- oh, Russ. You feel… I could almost put my whole hand in you melda.” At a loss for words, he leaned forward begging for Maedhros’ lips, and when they sought him in return he slid his tongue into his lover’s mouth, taking him in unison with mouth and hand.

"N-not yet," Maedhros huffed, pressing his brow to Fingon's, closing his eyes. He wasn't sure whether he only needed a minute or if he was afraid things were going to go too far (even if he wanted them to). He took a deep breath, and swallowed, and, "Yes," he decided suddenly. "Want--want everything." He wasn't sure it was physically possible, not--he wasn't stretched enough, Fingon's hand was too big--but, oh, he wanted it. He also wanted-- "Finno, c-close, 'm so close," he warned, unsure what Fingon wanted.

Fingon hesitated, hand slowing. “Do you want my thumb as well, arimelda? Or just this?” He squeezed his hand tighter around Maedhros. “Anything you want, anything you need. I want to watch you spend, Russ.”

Maedhros nodded, tossing his head. "D-do you think it will--?" he twitched suddenly, tightened momentarily in fear, before forcing himself to relax. "I--want--to try?" he whimpered, shifting for more friction, but that pulled in a most unpleasant way, and he held still instead.

“Shh, shh,” Fingon carefully removed a finger, leaving three to move within him and pressing a kiss to the corner of Maedhros’ mouth. “Later, Russ. I never thought of doing that before but… some other time we can try that, if you truly wish to. Or you can try doing that to me.” Fingon shivered at the thought. “I don’t want to hurt you, though. And right now, I just want you to enjoy yourself, and to spend for me. Can you do that Russandol? I want to see you finish; I want you to spend across me.” Fingon caught his lips again, and began moving faster, tighter around him, the fingers within Maedhros dancing across his sweet spot pressing and rubbing and tapping gently. “Finish for me, Russ.”

Maedhros whined, feeling bereft as Fingon withdrew a finger, but a tightness in his spine he hadn't known had formed loosened, and now he could move without pain. He was absurdly grateful to Fingon for not giving him what he wanted, and he melted into his kiss, into the warm water, and a few quick thrusts and Fingon's words were all it took and he was over the edge again, spending harder than before if that was possible, Fingon's hair muffling his cries, and he rocked, and tumbled, and fell, and Fingon was holding him.

Fingon worked Maedhros through his completion, and then wrapped his arms around him, holding his cousin close as Maedhros relaxed into him. “That was amazing, Russ. Thank you for trusting me with your hroa; I hope that I can always prove worthy of your trust. Valar, but you must be the most incredible Elda in creation. And I the most lucky to have your heart.” He stroked Maedhros hair, holding him tightly and enjoying the feel of his lover’s heartbeat against his skin. “Russ,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to the top of his lover’s head as Maedhros recovered.

"Finno," Maedhros replied, still boneless against his chest, breathing heavily. "I am the lucky one. Don't ever leave me," he begged, suddenly emotional, his eyes filling with tears, hands fisted tight in his lover's hair.

“Never,” Fingon swore. “Not though our families, our people, and the Ainur tried to make it happen. I would find you still, however long it took, or wait for you to come to me if that were required. You are mine, and I am yours.” He caressed Maedhros, and gripped him tightly, Maedhros words evoking a deep-seated fear in him, a hollowness that was the world without Maedhros. “Tyë melin, tenn’ ambar-metta. Tenn’ ambar-metta.”

Maedhros quieted at Fingon's promise, the momentary fear--though he felt it as if it were real--forgotten as if it had never been there before. " Inyë tye-méla tenn' ambar-metta," he vowed, and tried to straighten, kissing Fingon with a laugh. "The warm bath doesn't hurt?"

Fingon snorted. “No more than your weight on me- no, that wasn’t a suggestion that you move. I’m fine, Russ. Just sore. And I’ll probably ache all day- so I will be thinking of you.” He rolled his eyes at Maedhros. “We should probably wash though.” Wrapping his arms around Maedhros he stood, the water buoying his cargo, and moved them to the other section of the bath with the towel and soap he had grabbed earlier. He sighed as he sank aback down, Maedhros still around him and above him. “I love this, Russ,” he added, almost shyly. “And part of me doesn’t ever want to get used to it- I want to always be aware of how fortunate I am, how blessed, to be yours and to have you as mine. I cannot wait for the day when I call you husband.” He slid his hands up Maedhros’ back and scratched lightly down it. “Who first?” He asked, grabbing for the soap. “You, while you’re up there?”

"Mm, please," he hissed, loving Fingon's nails on him, his hands on him, loving that he lifted him with such ease (even helped by the water). And as Fingon began to cover him with soap, run his fingers through his hair, "I won't ever get used to this. I love you. I love you so much." Now he filled his hand with soap, and began working it into Fingon's chest. "And I like the idea of you thinking of me," he added with a grin.

Fingon laughed, lightly. “I always think of you,” he confided, arching into Maedhros’ clever hands as he worked soap through the bottom of his cousin’s hair. “Did I not tell you long ago that you are where every train of thought leads? I think of my cousins, and I think of you. Thinking of the forge take me back to your family and to you. Hiking? And I think of our adventures. Reading, and I think of those books we are making for Grandfather. Food? Your meals are the best I’ve ever tasted… you’ve entered every corner of my being, melda, and I couldn’t complain even if I wished to for it has grown brighter and better for your presence.” He finished with Maedhros’ hair and rinsed the suds off his hands in the water. “There, if you lean back I’ll rise out the rest of your hair, my beloved.”

Maedhros huffed, and leaned back, letting Fingon hold his head out of the water. "Good. It is not just me, then, who thinks of you, always." He smiled. "Now would you let me return the favor?" he asked, bending Fingon back into the water, his hair fanning out in foamy suds.

“Mmm. This is nice. Tomorrow or the next day we should have a long, hot bath. As hot as we can stand it,” Fingon suggested, relaxing in Maedhros’ hold. He sighed. The water, while warmer than earlier, was still only lukewarm at best. When Maedhros lifted him Fingon snuggled close, enjoying the heat where skin was pressed against skin.

"I know, I know, I never want to get out of here, either," Maedhros said, standing and pulling Fingon with him. "But I heard your stomach growling, and we need breakfast." He turned Fingon in his arms to get a look at his rear one last time: it was a light pink, but bruised in one place. Maedhros hissed in sympathy as he touched it, but grabbed a towel to wrap around Fingon's shoulders.

Fingon swatted at him lightly. "Don't do anything to me you don't want me doing to you." He snuggled into the towel, pulling it closely about him. "We don't have clothes," he added, looking around the washroom. "Are you going to carry me back to your room?" He held out his arms in request.

"Oh, well if that were the case, you would have a few more bruises," Maedhros said with a wink, and after wrapping a towel around his waist, he scooped Fingon into his arms. They made it back to his rooms without incident, and dressed hurriedly.


	6. Chapter 6

They met Maglor as they walked towards the dining area, and upon their arrival found Fëanor already present and basic food laid out. Fingon smiled and his stomach made a noise of interest and satisfaction looking at the spread.   

"It is nice of you to join us," Fëanor teased, not looking up from his work. he was drawing something on a scrap of paper.

"You're lucky mother isn't here to tell you no working at the breakfast table," Maedhros shot back.

Fëanor looked up guiltily and grinned. "She's supposed to be home soon," he said excitedly, laying his pencil down. Maedhros poured Fingon a cup of tea while he poured himself coffee.

“Do you plan to be… around for her arrival, or will you be working?” Fingon asked suddenly. His uncle shot him a look.

“I think I’ll be there to watch her reaction to our new son to be,” Fëanor replied after a moment’s careful consideration. “Do get back into the forge at some point, though. Wood, precious metals, strong metals--I don’t care what you work on as long as you spend a little time designing or crafting while you’re here.” Fingon nodded quickly in agreement. He did want to use his new workbench, and he certainly did not intend to accidentally insult Fëanor’s efforts on his behalf.

"The Ambarussa and Curvo will want to play with Findekáno," Maedhros pointed out. "Can't we go to the forge tomorrow? I have a few projects I could work on myself."

"Then you'll leave _me_  with the little terrors?" Maglor protested, laughing.

"We'll trade, then. If you take them in the morning I'll watch them in the afternoon," Maedhros offered, and Maglor nodded.

"Now that that's settled, do sit down for a few minutes, Nelyo." Fëanor made a few final notations and set his work carefully in front of one of the empty seats, moving to the oven to pull out warm food that was waiting on them, and settling platters on the table and three warmed plates in front of them. "Dare I asked what you have planned for Curvo, Pityo, and Telyo today?"

Maedhros smiled gratefully at his father as he served them, and looked to Fingon. "I don't know. I assumed we would take them out to the garden, try to tire them out. They are all strong swimmers, so we could go to the lake if we watched them. What are you in the mood for, Finno?"

“Perhaps not racing today?” he suggested with a smile. “And I suppose we’d best not risk the crags with them. What about heading through the woods a little with them? Some tree climbing and sparring to ensure they’ll sleep early and long?” Fingon shrugged, reaching for a pastry and a helping of bacon. “Honestly I’d be happy doing mostly anything with you and the boys--and the ‘mostly’ is purely due to some of the ideas they’ve come up with in the past.”

"Yes, setting Findekáno's hair on fire was one of their darker moments," Maglor commented, his mouth full.

"I will protect you," Maedhros insisted. "I think the woods would be nice. Well at least the Ambarussa will like it. Kano, you may need to watch Curvo if he wants to stay home."

“We don’t mention that!” Fingon shook his fork at Maglor. “And do you really want me to start listing things they’ve done to you? Thank you, Russandol,” he added, with a nod in his lover’s direction. Fingon smiled and edged forward carefully, refilling his plate. “Breakfast is delicious, uncle.”

"Yes, Atar, thank you," Maedhros said, and Fëanor nodded:

"You see, I'm not entirely the neglectful parent you make me out to be by relating these awful stories. They behave when _I'm_ watching them."

Maedhros snorted, and Fëanor laughed.

"Okay, no, you're right, they don't."

“I’m not sure there’s an Elda alive with the power to keep them under control,” Fingon said. “Can you imagine the nightmare they’ll be when they’re grown? I imagine the pranks will only be getting larger and better thought out.” Maglor moaned pitifully. “Kano,” Fingon added, determined to get a little retribution for the hair comment, “Can you tell me anything about this recent obsession with doors and locks that I’ve heard they have?”

"Oh, doors hold no interest for them. It is locked doors that they assume must be hiding something they want," Maglor laughed.

Maedhros nodded. "True, perhaps if we didn't lock any doors we would assure privacy. And Curvo helps them, else they’d not get far."

“That’s not particularly comforting,” Fingon sighed, sipping his tea. “Did you have plans for the day Kano, aside from finishing your restringing and tuning project?”

Maglor shook his head. “Nothing in particular. I’d like to get back to working on a few pieces that are partially completed, and I have a few ideas I’d like to start working on.”

"I can't wait til the little ones are grown and we can have family days in the forge!" Fëanor shared, his excitement obvious. Maedhros grinned and nodded, imagining the entire family in the same space, together but separate. "That will be nice."

“May I ask what you’ve been working on recently?” Maglor shot Fingon a cease and desist gesture as he asked, but Fingon was already finishing the question and their conversation was turned to crafting for a time as Fëanor set about explaining his current projects--including the one that had led to his unexpected appearance in Maedhros’ room shortly after Fingon’s arrival.

"...It's a good thing I was undecided about that one, anyway, because I can't even look at it, anymore," Fëanor finished with a laugh. Maedhros didn't think it was funny.

Maglor, however, thought it was hilarious.

"Shut up, Kano!"

"What? And to see how drunk Atar had to get afterward..."

"No, I mean, hush! I think I can hear..."

They waited, heads cocked and ears alert, before "Amil!" Maglor and Maedhros cried at the same time Fëanor shouted "Nerdanel!"

The twin terrors made it into the room before their mother, one launching himself at Maedhros, who was closest, and the other spotting Fingon and making a running leap into his lap.  Fingon winced slightly as he was driven into the seat. “Findekaaaaano!”

Fingon didn’t hesitate before replying, “The Ambaruuuuuussa!”

Maglor dropped his head to the table mumbling a comment about how lucky certain Eldar were that they weren’t hung over again this morning.

Maedhros had to look the Ambarussa he was currently holding in the face before he figured out which one he had: "Telyo!" he cried, spinning his little brother around. "Where's Amil?" he asked, but then Nerdanel walked in, holding Curvo by the hand. Amil! Curvo!" he said in greeting, but Fëanor beat him to them, sweeping his son into his arms and kissing his wife.

"Ah, Fëanáro!" she admonished, laughing and pulling back. "I haven't even had a chance to sit down!"

"Oh, melda," he said, dramatically, placed Curvo in her arms, and swept her off her feet, woman and child laughing--until of course they kissed, and Curvo decided this was disgusting. "One day, Curvo, one day," Fëanor laughed, carrying his wife to the chair at the head of the table, and then his eyes glinted. "Now, boys! Pityo, Telyo, I have something to show you in the playroom. Kano can come, too! Nelyo, you'll get your mother something to eat?"

"Oh! Findekáno, I didn't see you there," Nerdanel said, her eyes still smiling at her husband as everyone but Maedhros and Fingon left the room. "How are you, my sweet?"

“I’m spending a few days here; I apologize if it is any inconvenience. It is good to see you, aunt.” He stood, nodding respectfully to her and stepping next to Maedhros. He shot his cousin a brief wordless look, unsure how he wished to proceed.

"Of course it's not an inconvenience, Findekáno, come here," she said, throwing her arms wide. "And Maitimo, have you been taking good care of things while I've been gone?" she asked, hugging them both.

"Yes, Amil," Maedhros answered, kissing her, "But, ah, I did want to tell you something. Well, ask you something. We did."

Nerdanel sighed, and took each of their hands. "Well, you'd better sit down," she said, eyeing them warily.

Fingon rubbed his free hand against his trousers, glancing at Maedhros to center himself. Then he squared his shoulders and met his aunt’s eyes. “I have found the other half of my fea, one who brings light to my world and laughter to my days and both peace and inspiration to my heart. I know that I am blessed by his presence in my life, and am far better for it.” Nerdanel squeezed his hand lightly, and he returned the pressure for a moment, taking a deep breath. “For me it was a love that has always been there, growing between us as we both grew. My lord uncle Curufinwe found out earlier, and we wished to share this news with you. I am betrothed to, and seek your blessing for marriage with, your firstborn, Maitimo.” As he finished speaking his eyes were already half-drawn to Maedhros.

Nerdanel's face remained unreadable, even for Maedhros, and he began to feel his stomach bubble up with nervousness. "Is this true, Maitimo?" she demanded.

"I--yes, amil. I--we would have told you sooner, only--" The speech he had half-formed was slipping from his lips and his mind, and he steadied himself, going to his knees and holding her hand with both of his. "We wish to be bonded, Findekáno and I, as we have always wished it. I would have liked to tell you and Atar at once, but--well--he found out on accident. I love Findekáno, with all my fea, and we wait only for his majority. I hope to have your--blessing--" this part was hard, but he was determined to get this part right, to practice it before the more unforgiving audience of Nolofinwë, "We hope to have your blessing, though I ask not for permission. I could no more deny myself this than I could stop breathing, and I do love him enough that no power will keep me from him." His voice had risen, and he quieted: "A-apologies. Amil, I love him. I know it's not traditional, but I love him."

Nerdanel looked between them, at their solemn faces, and then she laughed, as heartily as if a great joke had been had at their expense: "Ah, Maitimo!" she said. "Come here, kiss your mother. You, too, Finno, if you are going to be part of this family. You have no idea how long I have been waiting to hear that!"

Fingon froze, shocked and pleased and her response, and terrified that their feelings had been too obvious if she had been waiting for this. Then caught himself and moved forward, embracing her and placing a tender kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, he whispered, and she squeezed him tightly in response. “Thank you so much.” He smiled at her and at Maedhros. “Aunt?” he questioned as the settled again. She cocked her head slightly. “What do you mean you’ve been waiting? Have we been so… obvious in our affections? Uncle Fëanáro did not know, but do others?”

She patted his hand gently. “Since you were born your head turned to my firstborn whenever he enters a room. And since he brought you home one day held fast in his arms the two of you have been nigh on inseparable. Why should I be so surprised that you wish to ensure you remain so?” She considered the rest of his question. “There may be others who have guessed, but I do not believe either of you have given proof or confirmation to bystanders. Now, tell me, who else knows--please tell me I’m not the last to find out? And Maitimo, how did your father react? I presume from everyone enjoying a meal together that the two of you have his support, and that Macalaure is pleased with your betrothal.”

Maedhros nodded, giddy with relief and leaning into her lap. "Aye, Atar found out--well, on accident--he walked in on us--it doesn't matter. But Tyelko and Irisse knew first, I suppose, and then we told Kano and Carnister. And Finwe knows."

"So you haven't told Nolofinwë," she said, her face unreadable again.

"No. We were thinking to wait until Findekáno was of age. But if you think we should proceed otherwise--"

"I think that's fine," she said. "Only--" and here she laughed again, "only Anaire and I have kind of a bit of a wager going about when you two would actually--"

“Amil!" Maedhros cried, shocked.

"Well, it's just a mother thing I suppose. You can't hide things like this from us. Always remember that." She hummed and pulled them each toward her to kiss them on the brow.

“You think mother will approve. Do you think… Atar will understand?” Fingon hesitantly queried. Nerdanel gave him a long look.

“I think that your father loves you, though he is likely to be quite protective of you. He greatly respects your grandfather, and if the two of you already have Finwe’s approval and blessing that will help him approve of this match even should he at first hesitate. You are both young, but there is a bond between you for all with eyes to see.”

“And if he still has trouble facing facts as they are, you have a place here.” Fëanor had entered the room unnoticed and gave them an indiscernible look. “And whether he likes it or not he is Finwë’s second born and when push comes to shove he _will_ yield to Atar and he _will_ yield to me.”

Maedhros huffed, then laughed out loud, before he realized that was hardly diplomatic of him, and stifled it with a guilty look at Fingon. Then he threw his arms around his mother's neck, and, "Thank you, Amil," he whispered, and kissed her cheek. "Love you."

"And I love you, Maitimo," she responded, kissing him back. "And I am very proud of you. I think Findekáno is a fine catch."

"If nothing else, he'll cement my dynasty--I mean--" Fëanor said, though no one could tell if he was actually joking or just pretending to be.

Nerdanel shot him a look: " _Really_ , Curufinwe?"

"No, not really. It is quite clear along which line atar's heirs fall." And it certainly is not my bastard brothers', whose mother many of the Valar hold cannot be married to my father, he continued silently, though his expression spoke to some of his thoughts. "Still, I suppose I must owe Nolo some thanks for bearing he who my firstborn holds most dear," he added, exaggeratedly begrudging and gaining a smile and a laugh from Fingon and Maedhros. Fingon was still blushing from Nerdanel's description of him.

"That went--that went well. Thank you both." Fingon relaxed, leaning slightly against Maedhros. "Two down, two to go," he told his betrothed. "And grandfather counts for about a thousand points, as your brothers would say."

Maedhros smiled, pulling Fingon into a one-armed hug (wanting to kiss him, but still rather afraid to in front of his parents, even after that). But as they moved away, Fëanor swooped in to kiss his wife, deeply and far too passionately, until she giggled and whacked him in the side of the head. "You and Kano can watch the children while I welcome your mother home, right?"

"FëaNÁRo!" Nerdanel laughed.

"ATAR!" Maedhros shouted, wincing, pulling Fingon to safety as his parents rushed back to their rooms. Maedhros turned up his nose slightly: "It's like _they_ are the newly betrothed ones."

"Well, since they seem approve of displays of affection--” Fingon stood on his toes and dragged his lover into a brief, but passionate kiss. "Tyë-melin, arimelda Russandol." He grinned. "Shall we go save your brother from the Ambarussa? I mean, see how much damage the twins have done?" he corrected quickly.

Maedhros was stunned for a moment by the kiss, but recovered with a smile. "Yes. I think he would appreciate it. Did we decide we were taking them to the woods?" he asked, taking Fingon's hands and pulling him toward the nursery.

"We did… if we can convince them!" As they pushed open the door to the room Fingon was instantly assaulted, as Amrod began climbing him.

"Oh, thank Eru," Maglor muttered as he spotted them. Fingon was not sure exactly what had happened to the nursery in the last ten minutes but…

"Well. Your brothers certainly work fast," he told Maedhros. "Boys, I've been dying to get outside and do a bit of tree climbing today. Would you be willing to join me?" He looked up at Amrod, who had made his way onto Fingon's shoulders. "I'd better hear a yes from you, at least!"

"Yeth!" Amrod cried, giggling shrilly and jumping down to run to his brother, who immediately agreed. Curufin, as expected, turned up his nose at the suggstion, and Maedhros shot Maglor a pleading look.

"Hey, Curvo, you could help me restring my harps, instead?" he suggested.

Curufin brightened. "Yeah!"

"And we could put together some puzzles!"

"Oh, yes, Kano, please!" Curufin all but shouted: it was the Ambarussa's turn to look disgusted. One thing about babysitting Curufin was that he could be easily put to tasks and left to his own devices, whereas the twins required constant vigilance.

"All right," Maedhros said, slinging Amras onto his shoulders. "We'll be home by supper. See you, Kano. Have fun, Curvo!" He ducked steeply at the doorway to clear it with his brother on his shoulders.

“You don’t even have to duck!” Amrod told Fingon as he got back onto his shoulders, though Amrod hunched over so that they could clear the door. Fingon reached up, fingers dancing along his cousin’s ribs until he squealed.

“Not funny. Now, have you found any really good trees for climbing?” he asked.

“The gnarly trees!” Amras shouted excitedly. “By the stream!” Fingon glanced at Maedhros for his approval, bouncing Amrod on his shoulders as Maedhros nodded.

“Sounds good to me.” The twins cheered.

 _Gnarly trees?_ Fingon mouthed to his lover.

"They make up words," Maedhros whispered with a shrug, which caused Amras to bounce and giggle on his shoulders. But as soon as they were out of doors, he grabbed his brother around the middle and swung him down. "All right, young prince, show us where the trees are."

"Woohoo!" Amras shouted, waving at Amrod, who tried falling off of Fingon's shoulders to reach his brother quicker, and would have succeeded, too, if Fingon hadn't caught him--but it was a narrow thing. Maedhros, who was used to their antics, still had a small heart attack as Fingon set his brother down on the ground and the two children toddled on ahead.

“They look so sweet.” Fingon slipped his arm through Maedhros’ as they followed behind the boys. “It’s hard to imagine them stealing a horse.”

"Well, it was their horse, to be fair," Maedhros said. "It was the lack of supervision that was the problem--which I think they realized when they became lost and the storm came in." He shrugged and laid his hand over Fingon's, squeezing him close. "I am so happy today, Findekáno," he admitted.

“As am I.” Fingon squeezed their hands. “I love you so, Russ. And we are to be married. I could continue saying that all day.” They turned as they reached the stream, heading away from the house. “Well, it looks like we’ve found the stream now we just need to find the… tasari?” He stopped for a moment, looking at the cluster of willows along the bank. Fingon laughed. “I suppose those would be gnarly trees. I suppose we’d best catch up and make sure there aren’t any falls--or at least, that we’re there to catch them.”

Maedhros nodded. "They tend not to fall unless they are doing it on purpose, so we'll merely be here to discourage them from leaping from high branches into the stream..."

"NELyoNELyoNELyo!" Amrod was chanting: "Look what I can do!" he demanded, and stood on his head, while his twin held his feet.

"Impressive," Maedhros told him indulgently, and when they switched positions, Amras standing on his head this time, "Just as impressive. Do I not have the two most impressive brothers in all Aman?" he turned to Fingon.

“Only two? Well, I suppose Kano and Turko are quite impressive--“

“Findekánooo!”

“What? Oh, of course. These two. Well, I suppose they are quite impressive. “ He ran up to them. “And I heard they can climb pretty well, also.” He lifted Amras, tossing him over his head into lower branches of a nearby tree.

“Me next!” Amrod lifted his arms plaintively, and Fingon tossed him up as well.

“How about you, Russ?” Fingon held out his arms.

Maedhros laughed in delight as his brothers giggled. His heart surged with love watching Fingon play with the younger children, and a distant (now impossible) desire for children of his own flared up before he quelled it. It was no loss, if he had Fingon, and anyway was a dream before he dreamed of Fingon. "Ah, I think I might be a bit heavy for a toss, but you could give me a leg up," Maedhros said. "Or I could give you one," he added with a wink.

Fingon pretended to ponder it for a moment. “I suppose since I tossed them up it can be my turn.” He grinned wickedly. “Though if I’m truly playing the part of the boys--” Fingon launched himself at Maedhros, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. “Spin me?” He begged in a passable imitation of the Ambarussa, tightening his thighs around his lover. “Then toss me up!”

"Ai, Valar, Finno, you're far too big!" he shouted, but took the opportunity to squeeze the flesh on Fingon's backside shamelessly. The twins laughed at their antics. "Here, get up--get off--" he said, and set Fingon down on a low, flat branch. "You two all right up there?" he checked.

"Yes, Maitimo!" they answered in unison, little backsides waggling as they climbed higher.

A thrill shot up Fingon’s spine as Maedhros’ hands dug into his sore flesh, and he met his cousin’s gaze with slightly dilated eyes. He shook himself, and, trusting that Maedhros would be below should one of the twins fall, he began plotting a path up after them. “How’s the view up there?”

“Good!” they called in unison.

“Catch me if I fall,” he reminded Maedhros, picking his route and beginning to climb.

"You won't fall," Maedhros said, biting his lip as he watched Fingon's retreating backside. "But if you do, I will catch you." He swung around in the lower branches, moving around the tree until he caught sight of movement--quite high up.

"Ambarussa?" he called.

"Yes?" came the answer.

"Look after Finno for me, all right? He can't go quite as high as you, and I need you two to make sure he doesn't fall."

"Oh!" they said, glad to be entrusted with such a task (they liked tasks), and almost before he could blink, the flashes of red hair had flanked Fingon.

"Careful!" Amrod told him.

"Maitimo will be mad at us if you falled," Amras added.

"You better not go any higher," Amrod went on.

Maedhros had to stifle a laugh, as the twins were clearly taking their charge quite seriously.

“Alright, alright! I wouldn’t want to go too high.” Fingon looked around them. “Okay, why not climb a little over that way--that branch, a little left Pityo--that one, yes. That looks particularly comfortable, I think. Shall we?” They consented, and the small group moved en masse onto the larger branch. Fingon waved down at Maedhros as they moved out of view.

"This is good," Amras whispered, giving his brother a very intense look.

"Yes, you're right," Amrod said, also whispering, as the twins converged on Fingon, moving close to him, and peering at him intently, as if he harbored a secret they wanted to know.

Fingon watched them as he wood eye a woodland creature when he was far afield without a horse. “Boys?” He asked curiously, giving them a small smile.

"Well, Nelyo trusts him," Amrod pointed out after a moment.

"That's the problem," Amras said, eyes narrowing.

Amrod seemed to agree, and narrowed his eyes. "Are you going to take our brother away from us?" he asked, point-blank.

The smile dropped from Fingon’s face. “Of course not.” He looked from one to the other. “Never. I would never want to. I love you both, and Russandol loves you, very much. But even if I tried--which I wouldn’t--your brother would never be kept from you. Do you think anything or anyone could make him wish to leave you? And can you think of anything that could keep him from you against his will?”

Heartened by this speech, their faces softened as one.

"Well all right," Amrod conceded.

"But he loves you a _lot_. He never tells us to check on anyone else." Amras leaned close to Fingon's face. "Do you love him just as much? Because I'll tell him if you don't."

"And I'll kick you really hard in the butt."

“I love him with all of my fëa, more than life itself.” Fingon stated. “I adore him.” He ruffled Amras’ hair, glancing at Amrod. “And if I ever hurt him, you are allowed to kick me really hard in the butt, though you’ll be in line behind both Russandol and myself.”

"Well, all right," Amras said with a world-weary sigh.

"You can take him away sometimes," Amrod then offered magnanimously, "but only because we like you a lot."

"And you have to be sure to bring him back."

Fingon grinned. “Of course. Though perhaps some of the time we’ll invite you to where we are, instead? Will that do?” The Ambarussa both nodded opposite one another in unison. Fingon shook his head. “Do be careful. I know Russandol _will_ catch anyone who falls, but I don’t think he wants to be needed for that duty.” He looked around. “This is a nice place, but do you think we should rejoin your brother?”

"Don't worry, Findekáno," they said. "We weren't going to push you, even if we didn't like your answers." They tittered at their joke.

"Everything all right up there?" Maedhros wondered, worried by the silence broken by giggles.

"Tell him yes," the twins hissed, poking him, apparently still in a threatening mood.

“Everything’s fine, Russ,” Fingon called. “Anything else you two wanted to ask? Otherwise we really should be heading back down--it would be quite rude for all three of us to leave him alone for too long.”

The twins eyed each other before coming to a silent agreement, which was apparently to hug Fingon aggressively. "No, Finno."

"You're right, Finno."

"We love you, Finno."

Amrod looked down. "You'll have to help us down." He stated, trying not to look or sound concerned about the height.

“Not a problem.” Fingon looked down, then back at the twins. “How about one of you hops on my back, and we’ll head down two at a time?” The twins nodded (oppositely) in unison, and Amrod climbed onto Fingon, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “I’ll be up in just a minute--no jumping, okay?” The climb down was simple enough, and five minutes later all three were on the ground with Maedhros.

"Did we go too high?" Maedhros asked the twins, but didn't push the issue. "What if we tried this one," he said, pointing to a shorter tree. His brothers agreed excitedly and ran over to it, shinning up like a tree never gave them a fright in their lives.

"All right?" Maedhros checked. "Thanks for looking after them." He smiled and put his arm around Fingon's shoulders.

“Any time.” Fingon nudged Maedhros with a shoulder leaning against him as they walked. “They’re quite protective of you, did you know that?” he added with a grin. “I think you’re definitely their favorite.”

"Of me?" Maedhros laughed. "And you can't have a favorite brother," he insisted.

“A favorite person, then? At the very least, they truly care for you. Enough to want to be proactive regarding your well being.” Fingon shrugged. “You’re lucky, Russandol. You have a wonderful family. And I love all of you.”

"And they love all of you, Finno. Thank you," he said warmly, and pulled Fingon into a hug.

“If anyone should be thankful it is surely I. But you are most welcome.” Fingon pressed their lips together briefly, captured by Maedhros’ pleased, relaxed expression.

“Hey!”

“Aren’t you two coming?”

“Russandol, you should climb with us!”

The Ambarussa had perfected the art of standing on the other's shoulders and pulling the other up to reach branches too high for them alone, and were already halfway up this smaller, stockier tree, which Maedhros and Fingon could feel safe climbing. "All right, all right, we're coming!" he said, tracking with his eyes a path up.

“Both of us?” Fingon asked, stepping back and grabbing Maedhros hand as they continued walking. The tree was much smaller, and the Ambarussa seemed more at ease in this than they had been in the larger willow--judging by the shape and their gleeful noises this was a tree they often found themselves in.

"Of course." He pulled Fingon close and whispered in his ear: "I want to watch you from behind." He laid his hand on Fingon's backside to illustrate.

Fingon dropped his head to Maedhros’ shoulder, groaning softly. “Tease,” he accused, but he moved ahead of Maedhros and began climbing, shaking his rear slightly as he started up the tree.

"I'm already in trouble," Maedhros shrugged, grinned, and followed after Fingon, taking a slightly different route closer to his brothers. "Boys!" he called. "What can you see from here?"

The Ambraussa stopped, whispering quietly to each other, and looked about them. "Can see the smoke from our house!"

"I can see the house!"

“Well, I see this gorgeous vision of grace and beauty, standing elegantly but at ease while Laurelin’s light catches in his hair and reflects off his ring.” A ball made of threaded willow branches came flying at Fingon’s head. “I mean, I see the house and the smoke, and look Ambarussa--there’s a cloud that looks like one of Turko’s hounds. And another that looks like his hair after a hunt!”

“That one’s atar’s anvil!” Amras added.

“Ooh! There’s one! Kano playing the harp--do you see it?”

Maedhros smiled gratefully up at Fingon as the Ambarussa pointed out all the clouds that looked vaguely like anything, and pointed out the hills, and particularly tall trees, shouting until they were hoarse. Meanwhile Maedhros crept up until he was close to Fingon, and hidden by branches from his brothers, kissed his neck, lavishing it with attention.

“Valar! You are a tease, beloved. A delightful one.” Fingon brought one arm back, squeezing at Maedhros’ thigh while his cousin attacked his neck. Checking that the Ambarussa were preoccupied, currently intensely debating whether a particularly fluffy cloud looked like the cat that frequented the patio outside the crafting hall or a deformed horse, Fingon began speaking softly, his voice barely moving on the air. “Tell me, Russ, what have you been daydreaming about?” he asked, hand stroking gently along Maedhros’ thigh, moving slightly higher and further inwards with each pass. “What you want to do to me at the cabin, or fitting your hand inside me as I almost did you, or perhaps what you were going to make me promise to do last night?”

"Mm, all of the above," he mused, nibbling on Fingon's ears. "Every moment I am not with you, not touching you, I think about you. It is very distracting. I think about tonight, I think about five minutes from now, I think about hundreds of years from now. And always we are together and always it is good."

"MAAAAITIMOOOOO," the Ambarussa called, causing Maedhros to jerk back.

"We know what you and Finno are up to."

"Kissy faces."

"It's gross."

"Gonna tattle."

"But everyone already knows!" They giggled.

“Nuh uh. You’re not ‘gonna tattle’!” Fingon corrected, moving forward to a branch nearer them. He was met with two expectant faces.

“Why not?”

“’Cause if you’re gonna tattle I won’t help you climb onto _that_ tree, and I bet your brothers have never helped you up it.” Fingon pointed to the tallest tree in the area. It was slightly away from the stream, and was one of the few non-willow trees in the nearby area. It was tall, straight, and the lowest branches were over twice Fingon’s height.

 “Deal!”

"Findekáno!" Maedhros cried. "That tree is probably, too--"

But that of course only encouraged them, and they began wriggling down the tree.

"Does _everyone_ know?" he hissed to Fingon as they went by.

“Don’t look at me! I was as surprised when they started questioning my feelings for you when we were up the last tree.” Fingon shrugged. “They’re you’re family. Do you think Curvo knows?” Maedhros and Fingon quickly descended, heading over to the tree the boys were already circling. Fingon stopped to cut several trailing branches, knotting them together. “I just plan to take them up to the first large branch. It looks like they can climb a couple of branches from there, but no higher. It will just be something new for them.”

"They did _what_ to you?" Maedhros hissed, flushing as he imagined his baby brothers taking Fingon to task in a way not even his father had done, and he laughed, picturing dark threats of no pudding and small pudgy fists hitting flat palms. "I hope they did not scare you off." He assessed the tree. "Yes, all right, that looks safe. How do you plan to get them up there?" Even Maedhros did not think he could reach the lower branches unassisted.

“Rope.” Fingon grinned, looping the braided branches around his shoulder. “The question is, can I get up there with them…” He nudged Maedhros playfully. “Don’t hiss--you’re going to get them mad at me. They’re more distrusting of me than your father was, and we don’t have the option of drunk bonding with them.” He gave his lover a sidelong look. “We survived your father’s reaction and Finwë finding out--” Fingon took a moment to silently pray his own father wouldn’t stumble upon them in a similar situation. “I’m pretty confident I can pass whatever tests the Ambarussa put me to.” He smacked Maedhros’ rear. “So behave.”

Maedhros laughed and threw his arms up in surrender, backing off (he almost hid his blush as Findekáno smacked him). "Very well, I trust you to handle them. I'm not sure I trust them with you, but--" he laughed. "All right, Ambarussa, come here."

Fingon held onto one end of the rope and threw the looped bundle. It fell across the second lowest branch and dropped back down to the ground. “Who’s first?” He grabbed the first twin to get within reach and had him step onto the rope, tying it into a loose loop. He carefully crossed the boy’s legs so that his free foot rested on the other foot in the rope. “Promise you’ll hold on?”

“I promise.” Maedhros moved below him in case of a fall, and Fingon began to hoist him up. He reached the branch without trouble, and helped lower the rope back down.

Amras now stepped up, and clung to the makeshift rope while Amrod waited, hyper-focused as his brother rose to meet him. Once together again, they erupted into giggling, holding onto each other and to the branches, and immediately set about climbing laterally with an eye to climbing higher.

"Be careful up there," Maedhros warned, pacing in agitation at the base of the tree.

Fingon laughed, pulling Maedhros into his arms. “Do you want to go up after them, or shall I give it a try?” he asked, arms looped loosely around his cousin’s lower back.

"Uh," he said, squeezing Fingon back. "I should like to go up. I'm not sure how, though. I could give you a boost?" He frowned up as the twins giggled and balanced precariously, fearlessly. "Maybe I should stay on the ground."

“Either way one of us should stay down,” Fingon agreed. He took the last few ‘free’ willow branches and braided them into a shorter rope, looping it around the tree trunk. “I’m thinking just, walk it up?” He demonstrated climbing several feet up, using the looped area to provide a counterbalance as he ‘walked’ up the tree, and moving it higher every few steps. “Do you want to try Russ?” He flipped backward, away from the tree, landing on his feet while the rope fell to the ground.

Maedhros laughed. "Well, I wouldn't mind watching you do it," he grinned.

“As you wish, m’lord.” Fingon bowed gallantly to Maedhros, then turned back to the tree. He rubbed his hands on the back of his trousers, then bent down to grab the rope. “Are you ready for some company?” he called up.

“Hurry up!” They followed it with giggling.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Fingon turned back, winking at Maedhros before starting up the tree. There was a moment of confusion as he determined how to move onto the branch, and then he was up.  “It’s pretty nice up here.” The Ambarussa nodded their agreement, standing and balancing on the branch.

"Be nice to Findekáno up there!" Maedhros demanded of his little brothers.

"Oh, you're no fun, Maitimo!" Amrod said.

"Finno, will you help me up to this branch?" Amras asked, with a sweetness that was deceptive.

Fingon ignored the saccharine quality of Amras’ voice. “One branch higher, but no further, alright? Otherwise I don’t think you’ll be allowed back up here for a few years.” Fingon stood up, walking over to Amras and lifting him onto the next branch, which was high enough that Fingon could use it to balance as he walked. “Good?”

"Me too me too!" Amrod now insisted, holding out his arms to Fingon.

Maedhros tried not to let his concern show, though his brothers seemed excited, and Fingon seemed sure. Also he got an excellent view up Fingon's tunic which he could not complain about. "Ambarussa, hold your brother's hand!" he ordered, "and listen to everything Findekáno tells you."

“Only one person stands at a time, and stay here on the thick part of the branch. I bet the views a bit better from the second branch up.” Fingon took the opportunity to give directions as soon as Maedhros finished speaking, thinking the twins would be more likely to remember and obey directions they associated with their oldest brother’s orders. He thought the instructions were simple, but would work--if one of them started to fall he should be able to steady the boy in question. If he was unable to, Maedhros would certainly reach one falling twin before he hit the ground.

“Fine.” The Ambarussa sounded less than impressed, but they agreed and he moved the second twin up. Fingon thought to himself that he and Maedhros needed to return at some point--he wanted to climb higher with his lover, and compare the view from the top to that from the crags. Thinking of Maedhros he looked down, and caught his lover eyeing him. He winked before turning his attention back to the Ambarussa.

"Oh, Finno, Finno!" the twins cried once they were up on this second branch. "We can see the rocks from here!"

"They are so pretty! Maitimo, Maitimo, can we go there?"

"Oh, Maitimo, we will be good! Tell him, Finno! We want to limb the rocks!"

Maedhros sighed. "I think we should stay in the woods..." he began.

“Which rocks are you looking at?” Fingon asked, hoping to clarify. Amrod sat on the branch and pointed for him. “Just across the stream a little downriver?” The twins nodded. “What do you think, Russ? They’re only perhaps a half-mile away. We could get there, climb a little, and be on our way back in less than an hour--we’d still have time to wash up and change before dinner.”

Maedhros grinned indulgently. "All right. Be very careful getting down, or we'll go straight home," he said sternly, watching them cling to Fingon tightly, trusting him to get them down. "Need any help?" he asked, standing directly below them. "Do you want the rope?"

Fingon lowered both boys to the first branch and then sat on it, legs over the far side and swinging as the three had a whispered conference. “I don’t think so,” he called down. Russ? Heads up!” Taking Amras’ hands in his own, Fingon let himself fall backward, holding onto the branch with his calves and dropping down, dangling Amras over Maedhros’ head. “Ready?”

Maedhros' heart skipped a beat seeing Fingon fall, but held out his arms. "Just don't kick me in the teeth, Telyo," he said. "I'll catch you. Ready, Finno."

Fingon swung him briefly, then dropped the laughing child into Maedhros’ arms. With a (mostly faked) groan he pulled himself back up, taking Amrod in his arms. Amrod almost jumped as Fingon fell backward, swinging in his arms. “Oof! Pityo!” A half minute of swinging and he was also safely in Maedhros’ arms. Fingon pulled himself up one more time. “Are you going to catch me as well, Russ? Otherwise I need a cleared landing area.”

Maedhros grinned, holding out his arms. "I would be honored. Stand back, Ambarussa."

Fingon slipped down until he was dangling from the branch, gripping it with his arms. “Ready, Russ? Catch me!” Fingon dropped, twisting so that he fell back first and horizontally, trusting that he would land in Maedhros’ arms.

Maedhros' breath caught as Fingon dropped from the tree, all lean muscle and grace, and for half a moment before he fell, heavy and real into his arms, he thought he was a vision. And when he landed in his arms, he forgot where he was and who was with him, and kissed Fingon full on the mouth, until:

"Eugh!" the Ambarussa cried.

“My prince caught me--he gets a kiss,” Fingon told them, sticking his tongue out. He had wrapped his arms around Maedhros’ neck, and though his cousin had been picking him up and carrying him since they were both young, he still found himself impressed at the strength Maedhros had and at how solid Fingon felt in his arms--secure and effortlessly help up. Despite his words Fingon tucked his face against Maedhros’ neck, blushing lightly at being caught so caught up in the moment and in Maedhros. “To the rocks?” he asked.

The Ambarussa were still giggling and exaggerating noises of disgust, so Maedhros shooed them sternly. "Shall we race to the rocks?" he asked.

"Onetwothreego!" Amras shouted immediately and tore off, with Amrod close behind shouting how it wasn't fair. Maedhros winked as he set Fingon down, pecked him on the cheek again, and jogged after the children.

Fingon stared after them for a moment, a hand touching his cheek as he watched Maedhros chase the twins. He liked to think he was close to his siblings, but for the most part his family--albeit being a ‘minor’ royal line, as his uncle would put it--were more formal than his cousin family were in private. But soon this would be his family as well--not just the cousin family he enjoyed spending time with. With a broad smile he took off after the others. Maedhros was jogging slowly, letting the twins lead, and Fingon smacked him again as he passed him, just because it was a beautiful day and they were outdoors with other people and they didn’t have to hide. Just because he could. That and he liked the startled noise Maedhros made.

Maedhros yelped. "Stop that," he hissed, wheeling away and flushing as red as his hair. "Not _here_ ," he begged, catching Fingon's wrist.

“ _’_ _Here_ _’_?” Fingon grinned at the possibilities. “Aww, Russ. Me sneaking in a swat while they race is surely less traumatizing than watching you try to suck my tonsils out, but if you insist.” He made a show of placing his hands close to own body as they jogged. “Or did you jut mean that you want to be… leading the action? ‘Cause when you slapped me earlier, in case you didn’t notice, I wasn’t complaining.”

"I--" he blushed redder, if that was possible. "I'd just rather it not be a _public_ thing--unless that is your revenge, in which case you are crueler than I thought," he managed a sly grin.

Fingon tilted his head slightly. “It was no more than Turko does to Irisse, Moryo, or me when we’re racing or wrestling or finishing sparring. But I’ll stop; I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Though they were speaking too quietly for the boys to hear if they tried, Fingon lowered his voice further, making it soft and intimate and heated with promise as they walked up to their destination. “I have no intention of giving you a spanking in public, Russandol. But you should know that I have every intention of getting your rear as bright red as you had me last night. Or at least it’s one of the possibilities that have been going through my mind today.”

The Ambarussa were bouldering up the side of the large rocks, and Fingon made his way below Amrod to catch him should he lose his grip.

"Just one?" Maedhros parrotted almost thoughtlessly, the flush to his cheeks abating (though there was a decided flush against his trousers), but he shook it off and barely caught Amras, who decided now was the time to launch himself off the rock and into Maedhros' arms.

Amrod looked down, debating flying into Fingon’s arms. “You can beat him to the top now,” Fingon pointed out, and saved himself an incoming Elda projectile. Amrod raced to the top, standing proudly as he reached it. He turned a full circle, before slouching slightly and looking down at the others.

“The view was better from the trees.”

"It is not the view that is valuable--it is the climb," Maedhros said, setting Amras back on the rock where he quickly joined his brother.

“Then you should go enjoy the view--I think it’s your turn to climb.” Fingon stepped back so that he could keep an eye on the twins who had moved to the center of the rock.

Maedhros raised an eyebrow at Fingon and grinned mischievously, turning to climb while giving Fingon a full view of his backside as he moved. He grabbed his brothers and pulled them close, and was surprised when they hugged him back, tiny arms going round his neck. Amras even even settled down in his lap, and Amrod swung around behind him, leaning heavily. "What are you two tired?" he asked.

"Noooo," they answered, but didn't move.

“I think I am,” Fingon said, clambering up to join them at the top. “And it’s almost time to head back.” The twins made disgruntled sounds. “Unless you want to miss dinner.” Suddenly heading back became far more appealing to the Ambarussa. He shared a smile with Maedhros.

"Nelyo, caaaaary me!" they begged, trying to jump on him as they slid down the rocks. But Maedhros set them gently on the ground. "No, you'll walk. You're rather too big to be carried," and I want you to sleep through the night tonight, he did not add out loud. Quickly the twins changed tactics and rounded on Fingon, demanding to be carried home, but Maedhros fixed him with a stern glare.

Fingon held up his hands, noting Maedhros look. He also recalled the stories of them picking locks and making their way into their brothers’ bedrooms--something he did not want to experience firsthand. “You wanted to come out this far, and had the energy for all of your climbing; you need to make it back on your own. You’re big now, like your brother said, and besides--the extra work will make you stronger. Keep going after you’re tired, and soon you’ll be able to go further and climb higher.” They accepted this glumly, and the group began making their way back to the house.

Maedhros nodded proudly at Fingon, and held Amrod's hand as they walked back, and Fingon's, while Fingon held Amras' hand. The walk back was quieter, and less active, but peaceful, and by the time they arrived without incident, the twins had caught their second wind, and bounded inside shouting for their parents. "How was the adventure?" Nerdanel asked, while Fëanor swept the twins into his arms and took them off to wash.

Fingon laughed. “It went well--there was tree climbing and bouldering but most importantly, I think we managed to tire them out… not that the way they ran in here supports that, but they’ve been fairly quiet on the way back.”

“They’re always like that when they arrive somewhere or when someone else arrives.” Nerdanel sent a fond look in their direction.

“If you’ll excuse me, I should also wash up and change before dinner.”

"Me, too," Maedhros said, and his mother laughed but said nothing as they retreated into his room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in chapter four, Fingon and Maedhros will be continuing their exploration of sensations and bedroom activities. Please see chapter four for full authors' note on the subject.

“I want to keep it fast, but join me for a quick shower?” Fingon glanced at his betrothed, pulling out fresh clothing and laying his dinner outfit on Maedhros’ bed. “Even if I don’t do my hair I’ve got a fair bit of dust, dirt, and tree on me.”  

Maedhros smiled. "I think my clothes are re-wearable," he said as he shucked out of his clothes, "but I would not say no to a shower with you." He took Fingon in his arms and kissed him, backpedaling to the washroom.

Fingon fumbled with the faucet so that the water could start to heat up, relishing the contact with Maedhros--closer than they had been for most of the day. “Love you, Russ.” Fingon ran his hands up and down the hard planes of his cousin’s body.

“Love you, Fin,” Maedhros replied, breathing in his lover’s scent. “I love how you are with the children. It is beautiful to see. To know and see how deeply my family loves you in turn is just—it confirms how loveable and worthy of love you are, and reminds me daily of how truly blessed I am to have you.” He guided them under the lukewarm water and kissed him, taking hold of his hair to pull it out from beneath the spray.

“They’re my little cousins. They’re going to be my brothers.” Fingon smiled fondly at the thought, allowing Maedhros’ to guide him. “Mm. And you will be my husband, my other half, my better half, my partner in all.” He nipped gently at Maedhros’ neck before pulling back to grab the soap, lathering both of them quickly. “How crazy is dinner likely to be, if I dare ask? Are the Ambarussa still in their ‘throwing food’ phase, or have they moved on to something else?”

“It was a short phase,” Maedhros laughed, “since Amil gave them no more food to replace what they had thrown. Now the problem is them wolfing down their food and growing bored while everyone else is eating. Atar usually gives them puzzles to do at the dinner table, as with Curvo, and as with, well, he’s always done that, for all of us.” He helped soap them, but really just moved his hands over Fingon’s body. “How’s your rear?” he asked, turning him to get a look.

Fingon turned willingly, in Maedhros’ arms. “Better,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Just a little bruise left.” Fingon shrugged. “It’s nothing bad--I can barely feel it.” He stepped backward, pressing himself against Maedhros from thighs upward. “This feels good.” He dropped his head back to rest on his cousin’s shoulder.

"Ahh, Finno," Maedhros said, pressing them together, rocking minutely into Fingon, "this feels perfect." After a moment, he stood on a knife-edge, and they should either stop, or he was going to be late for dinner. "We should stop," he whispered into Fingon's hair, though he did not want to.

“We should,” he whispered. He ground back against Maedhros once more, then moved forward, out of the shower spray. “You coming?” Fingon bundled himself quickly in a towel, and held out a second for Maedhros.

Maedhros growled, but huffed. "I suppose saying I'm not hungry for dinner wouldn't help?" He grinned as he toweled off.

“Hmm. You might not be hungry, but I am.” Fingon finished pulling on clean breeches and walked over to Maedhros. “Though, now that you mention it…” He kissed his lover once and dropped to his knees, taking Maedhros deeply in a single movement. Fingon moaned around him, hands going to Maedhros’ bare hips and resting there lightly.

Maedhros barely stifled a yelp and almost fell back, hands immediately going to Fingon' s head. "Ahhh--Finn--" he said, his body immediately responding to the feeling of Fingon's sweet and welcoming mouth.

Fingon looked up, meeting his eyes. He stroked gently along Maedhros’ hip, one hand darting back to grab his rear firmly, massaging the muscle there. Pulling back to smile at his lover, he bent down swallowing around Maedhros until he had taken him to the root, determined to drive him desperate with need in a short time.

Fingon was entirely successful, as Maedhros gasped and hissed at Fingon's attentions, his hot wetness, his clever hands. "Ai, Finno, you take such good care of me," he sighed, relaxing into Fingon's quick and pleasant rhythm.

Eyes dancing, Fingon helped Maedhros closer to the edge, thinking of what Maedhros had expected that morning in the bath. He had no desire to leave his cousin unfinished and needing all day, but perhaps for a couple of hours… He felt Maedhros become harder still under his touch, and when Maedhros was gasping, hips twitching uncontrollably, Fingon pulled off, taking Maedhros’ hands his own and standing. He was flushed, lips bruised, and hair mussed as he stared at Maedhros. “I’m hungry, Russ. And the boys have probably been bathed and dressed by now. We should head down to dinner.”

He bit his lip briefly, watching his lover--at the first sign that Maedhros did not want this, Fingon would be bringing his lover to completion and holding him for a few minutes without worrying about being late for dinner. Sitting next to Maedhros through dinner, each of them knowing the other was antsy and waiting and desperate would be… intense. But watching Maedhros spend now would be equally wonderful and pleasurable. And he recalled Maedhros' embarrassment at a small slap in the woods and wanted to be sure he was not pushing too far.

"Uh...?" Maedhros whined, blinking in shock and concern. "Wait. Finno--" It took him a moment to process this. Was this part of Fingon's revenge? This thought sent a thrill through him, and something he liked as much as he felt utterly forsaken (and still further aroused) not to be _allowed_ to finish. Chest heaving, he looked from Fingon, down to himself, and back to Fingon, determined to obey (Fingon had been so good for him, and he had been more cruel, had he not? It was a matter of pride now), but—

"But--they'll know--" he protested.

Fingon watched his cousin’s eyes pupils dilate further, even as he stammered in protest. “If you want,” he added. “If we want. Just look at me Russandol--if we do this you won’t be alone in it. I’ll be waiting as well.” He squeezed Maedhros’ hands. “And we’re waiting long tunics over thick pants and we’ll mostly be sitting at a table. No one will know. It won’t be like what we tried that time at grandfather’s…” He smiled, eyes moving lower on his lover’s body as Maedhros showed that he clearly remembered that day.

“I would love to sit next to you tonight, Russ, barely able to think because I'm half-lost anticipating tonight. I could reach over and feel you trembling a little beside me. Needing me half as much as I need you always, my prince and my better half. I'm sure the wait will only make things better later--both tonight and in general. For nine years of engagement is a very long time to wait to feel you within me, joining us forever." He smiled softly. "Only if you want, though. Otherwise I’d be just as happy bringing you pleasure now. What would you have me do, Russ?”

"I remember--at grandfather's--" he swallowed. "I couldn't do it, Fin!" He said, his voice a little shrill. His hands went to his sex, just holding, nervously, his heart hammering in his chest. "But I want--" the flush would not leave his cheeks, "I want to please you. Would it please you, to have me so desperately under your control? I would be helpless by the end, exhausted by need, and yet driven by it. You could show me no mercy all night and still I would be devoted to you. Would you like that?" But just as Fingon seemed ready to lose his nerve: "Because I would," he said, and flushed brighter, shivering slightly in anticipation.

Fingon’s eyes softened, and he dropped one of Maedhros’ hands to caress his cheek, pulling him into a soft kiss. He could not believe that he held the heart of one so sweet, so earnest, so beautiful and thoughtful and true. “If you would,” he murmured. “My beloved prince.” He stepped back, picking up Maedhros’ shirt to help him into it. “Tell me, will you be alright as you are, or do you want me to help you keep yourself under control? I can tie you off again, or I can just tuck you into your breeches if you can keep yourself from finishing at the table.” He began lacing up his cousin’s tunic, fingers drifting across smooth skin slightly more than was necessary. “Because as good as you are at controlling yourself, arimelda, that they would notice.”

Maedhros whined slightly and his breath shook. His spine tightened, nervousness and no little lust coiling there. He couldn't believe he was asking this, but neither could he imagine waiting this out without help: "Maybe--a tie? I don't want anyone to n-notice. I'll need thicker trousers."

“Go grab what you want to wear and I’ll find the tie.” Maedhros returned quickly wearing different trousers, and Fingon knelt again, tongue poking out of his mouth slightly as he tied off his lover and pressed a final kiss to the smooth skin before tucking him away. “Good?” He asked, lacing up his own shirt and adjusting himself slightly as he headed towards the door.

Maedhros bound breeches and trousers tight, though he almost stopped breathing once or twice--but by the end he was certain his arousal did not show, and bound as he was he wasn't going to go off early. He might even manage normal conversation, a bit. "Wait, Finno, please?" He said, following along behind at a slower gait. So much for getting through this with his pride intact.

Fingon stopped, hand on the door of Maedhros’ outer rooms. He waited until his lover was even with him, and pulled Maedhros into a deep kiss. “Dinner, and then we’ll be back here,” he promised. Together, they made their way down the hall and to the dining area where Fëanor and Nerdanel were still working to convince the twins to get in their seats and stay there. Fingon slipped into ‘his’ chair, and Maedhros quickly dropped down beside him.

“Dinner smells wonderful,” Fingon complemented. Nerdanel smiled at him.

“This is a day to celebrate,” she replied, moving to the kitchen to begin bringing in plates.

"Ambarussa, _sit_ ," Maedhros said shortly, and the twins reacted to his sternness and quieted. Nerdanel eyed him, and Fëanor laughed:

"Well it's a good thing they know who's in charge," he said, and went to help his wife in the kitchen.

Maglor entered, carrying Curufin, who was intently fiddling with a complex-looking puzzle. "How were the woods?" He asked.

"Good," Maedhros managed, staring at the table.

“I climbed a couple of trees with the boys, and Russandol went bouldering on a small rockface with them,” Fingon added, one hand sliding under the table to squeeze Maedhros’ knee briefly. “Which tree was your favorite?” he asked Ambarussa.

“The tallest!”

“The rope one!”

Fingon shook his head. “Why did I even ask?” He glanced at Nerdanel. “One of us stayed below them whenever they were climbing, but we did get high enough to see some great views. And some great clouds.” The Ambarussa nodded their agreement. “How was your afternoon, Kano?”

Nerdanel smiled. "Oh I trust you and Maitimo implicitly," she said.

"Quiet," Maglor answered. "Curvo and I worked individually on our own projects, didn't we?"

Curufin ducked out from Maglor's attempt to ruffle his hair. "Not quiet. Kano works loud," he said, fussing with his puzzle.

Maedhros managed a laugh at that.

"All right, puzzles away, food's coming in," Fëanor announced as he and Nerdanel came in bearing pots and trays.

What followed was more a dance of precise choreography than a normal meal. The twins were served quickly to keep their attention on their own plates, and the rest of the food quickly made its way around the table. Fëanor engaged Nerdanel in conversation regarding her latest project, a combination of sculpting and inlaying natural looking veins of precious metal and stones from what Fingon could gather. The twins finished first, as Maedhros had predicted, and spent the rest of the meal hollering for dessert. Fingon glanced at his lover, expression showing his immense concern at the mere idea of giving them sugar.

Maedhros shrugged at Fingon. The liveliness of dinner helped take his mind off his cock, but as he suspected, the flush never left his cheeks and he squirmed throughout. He managed some conversation, but he wanted nothing more than to be alone with Fingon, and he alternated between wanting his own revenge and needing Fingon's attention. If anyone noticed, however, they gave no sign.

Nerdanel waved off offers of assistance as she went back into the kitchen, returning with a large berry pie, Tengwar script in the crust describing its contents and flavor. Fingon smiled as he caught Maedhros shifting beside him- again- and shifted the hand he had settled on his own leg. He slid it up Maedhros’ thigh, brushing higher momentarily, needing to feel how much Maedhros needed, and desired, at this moment. Then they were eating dessert and listening to Curvo chat about his time in Tirion and the other children he had played with and how he had spent his days.

"Findekáno, please," he choked, interrupting the conversation, but just before it grew awkward, "pass me the--ice cream?" He hadn't eaten much, and heaping more food on his plate while like this seemed only another hurdle to get past before achieving his desire. His hands were trembling enough already, and though he laid his hand over Fingon's, it was more to beg than to demand.

Fingon handed over the bowl. “Of course.” He continued chatting with Maglor, who was seated on his other side, as Maglor told him about the final instruments he had restrung and the completely different sounds two identical harps with differently cured strings could make. He watched while Amrod’s hand inched closer and closer to the bowl of freshly whipped cream, and as he succeeded in upending it, Fingon squeezed the hand on Maedhros before removing it, standing and joining the commotion as everyone worked to mop up the spilled food and protect the rest of their deserts. Amrod’s plate, as chance would have it, was now covered with a pile of whipped cream that he was eyeing appreciatively.

"Pityo!" Maedhros cried, but as Fingon stood to help-- "Oh, Findekáno, you're splattered with--"

"Here, I've got you, Finno," Maglor said, trying to wipe at his tunic with a napkin, but as he moved his arm, he spilled a cup of milk right into Maedhros' lap.

"Ai, Kano!" Maedhros cried, also standing up.

"Maitimo, Kano," Fëanor said, laughing as he moved to clean up the increasing mess. "Why don't you go clean up? You can take your pie with you."

"Thanks, I think mine is done," Maedhros said, for luckily the milk had spilled onto his plate.

"I'm _sorry_ , Nelyo," Maglor insisted.

"I SOGGY!" Amrod echoed loudly, though he did not look sorry.

“I think I’d best go as well,” Fingon said quietly. “I only have a few outfits here, and I’d prefer to get this cleaned up, since I’ve been wearing it less than an hour.” At his uncle’s nod he stood as well. “Everything was delicious-- thank you for an incredible meal.” The two Eldar made their way into the hall, and if Maedhros was slightly slow it could be blamed on him trying to be careful because he did not want to drip milk everywhere.

Maedhros was practically limping back to his rooms, a grim smile set on his face. "You must have planned that, somehow," he huffed, once they were safely behind his closed (and locked) door.

Fingon looked at him innocently. “Who, me? Do you really think their favorite tree climbing cousin has that much sway over the rascals?” He stepped forward, pressing against Maedhros. “You were almost begging me at the table Russandol. Was there something you needed?” He slipped a hand between them and began idly unlacing Maedhros’ trousers.

"I--" Maedhros tried, but breath and speech were stolen from him at the change in pressure, under the power of Fingon's fingers. He nodded instead, desperately.

“You were so good, Russ,” Fingon praised, fingers shaking slightly as he dragged Maedhros’ trousers to mid thigh. “So beautiful, so needy. I’m so proud of you.” He pressed up for a kiss before dropping to his knees, intent on finishing what had been started earlier. “Want you to finish for me, melda,” he added, fingers carefully unwrapping Maedhros, dropping the strip of cloth to the floor.

"I--ahh," Maedhros cried, suddenly weak in the knee. He had thought this would go on longer, but he certainly was not going to argue. "Don't th-think it'll take m-much," he gasped, leaning back against the bed.

“No?” Fingon pulled back slightly. “Part of me wants to tease you longer, Russ, but I want nothing as much as I wish to see you come undone. That and I cannot bear to see you in distress for long.” He reached for Maedhros, then paused, hesitating where he knelt a foot from his lover. “Will you touch yourself for me, Russandol? I think I would have an incredible view from here.”

Maedhros was happy to agree to anything, and nodded fiercely, taking himself in hand and stroking, twisting just the way he liked. There was no hesitation, no shyness. Only need. "F-Fin--" he hissed almost immediately. "Close. Gonna--may I--?"

“Come.” It was firm, almost stern, and clearly a command. It was the tone that could make Fingon at times seem very much like his uncle, and it never failed to make his younger siblings listen attentively when he used it.

He did not require another stroke, he had been there, on the knife-edge, waiting for Fingon's word, for Fingon's _permission_ , for so long, that it was instinctive--not to mention his _voice_ \--and he was coming hard, groaning with the effort.

Fingon rubbed his eyes clean and blinked up at Maedhros, tongue darting out to taste Maedhros’ seed, which was striped across his face. “Well.” He licked his lips and swallowed. “That was unexpected. I mean, completely unplanned-- dinner and this. I had _plans_ for tonight, beloved. But I’m alone with you and they slip from my grasp, replaced by whatever begins building between us at the present moment.”

"I--sorry, sorry," Maedhros said, falling to his knees amid the afterglow and trying to clean Fingon's face where he rather ungratefully marked him. "I'm sorry. I just--"

“Russ!” Fingon paused momentarily when Maedhros immediately stilled. “Please don’t be sorry. Why would you be sorry? Do you regret the fact that I so completely lose myself when we are together? Or what just happened? You did exactly what I asked, arimelda.” Fingon leaned forward, sliding onto Maedhros’ lap where he knelt just in front of him. Fingon brought them closer but did not touch their foreheads together, not wanting to make a mess of Maedhros’ face. “You are perfect, Russandol. And I adore you.”

"And I adore you. I only meant I'm sorry for soiling you like this--" he continued to clear the mess away with his thumbs and wipe it on his trousers. "I'm not sorry, I--I enjoyed that very much--more, if you are pleased with me. Thank you," he said, once Fingon's face was clean, and he kissed him.

“I am always pleased with you,” Fingon said softly. “But yes, you did very, very well. Thank you for doing that. And you’re welcome. You always are.” Tucked himself against Maedhros’ momentarily, shifting to try to get more comfortable as his body’s desire made itself known. “It’s early to retire. Shall we play a game in the sitting room, or draw, or if you are willing we could take turns reading?”

"Um," Maedhros said. "I thought--only--" But Fingon seemed perfectly serious, and, well, of course Maedhros liked doing other things with his cousin besides climbing things and fooling about in the bedroom, he just had thought—

"Well, I need to change first. Did you...want me in anything in particular?" he prompted. Having psyched himself up all day for giving himself to Fingon wholly was taking some effort to break.

“Anything you want. I just thought we could relax for a while. Though if you’re going for comfort clothes, I may change into something lighter as well.” Fingon shrugged. “What should we do?” he asked with a grin, bouncing lightly on Maedhros’ lap before standing and pulling his cousin up with him.

"Oh, ah--something together. Chess? Another game?" Maedhros said, shucking out of his clothes and putting them away. He opted for a light robe pulled around his shoulders and tied modestly at the waist (though without anything under it he matched that silly fashion statement Celegorm was trying to make). "Can I offer you something? A soft sleeping tunic?"

“Please; that would be perfect.” Fingon’s eyes followed his lover around the room as Maedhros threw off clothing before finding a robe he approved of and tying it about his waist. “Since we’re staying in your rooms for the evening, that should be appropriate. And any game will do.”

'Appropriate?' Maedhros was surprised, if not outright confused, by the change in his usually voracious cousin. He sounded like--well, he sounded like _him_ , when he was being serious and not very much fun, and suddenly Maedhros knew how Fingon must feel so much of the time with him, and how bordering on insulting his behavior made him feel, and resolved to improve his attitude at times like this. He wondered if Fingon was teasing him. He had to be.

"Fin--" he said, but could go no further. Maybe Fingon really did want to play chess? Sex wasn't everything, certainly not whatever not-sex they got up to, certainly not if Fingon was going to be living with them. He'd just finished. He could manage a few games.

Why was this suddenly making him so hard?

Still, he went dutifully to his wardrobe and pulled out a long, soft tunic he used for sleeping, and brought it to Fingon.

“Perfect,” Fingon said, stripping off his dirty clothing and tossing it onto the floor. “And _soft_!” he added as he touched the clothing. “Mmmm. I think I’m jealous Russ.” He took his clothing to the washroom hamper and quickly rinsed off his face with a wet cloth.

"Wait," Maedhros said, his body jerking. He thought he saw-- "Do you? Are we done for the evening? Can't I--won't you let me take care of that for you? I had no idea, I thought--"

Fingon’s brow furrowed as he walked over to his lover. “Done?” He shook his head. “I just wanted to spend some time with you. Time to ourselves, just… relaxing for a quiet evening. We are lovers and betrothed, but you’re also still my best friend.” He glanced up at Maedhros with a smile. “I am well, Russ, for the moment. I can wait. But I do plan on ending the evening in bed with you. Please don’t doubt that.”

"Oh," Maedhros said, stupidly relieved, but also still confused. Why was Fingon making _himself_ wait? "I--well if you're sure--okay--" he scrambled to set out the chess game, though being on opposite sides of a table would be less than perfect.

“And," he added. "This, just now, was about you. I'll wait until we're ready to turn in for the evening." He looked at the board Maedhros was setting up. "Uh… Russ? If you want… we could forgo the formalities and just sit on the couch? It won’t be a perfect competitive set up… but, you’re going to win anyway.” He shrugged, falling into the soft cushions and throwing his bare feet on the low coffee table. He snuggled into his claimed seat. “This is nice,” he added, hand running softly over the fabric of Maedhros’ tunic. “It’s almost like being wrapped in your arms as I sit here.” He made a thoughtful sound. “Spending all day wrapped in a never ending hug from you--I could get used to this.”

Maedhros smiled. "Yes, this will be nicer," he said, shooing Fingon's feet off the low table so he could rest the game there, and taking a place close to Fingon so that they were touching. "I wish we could share clothes more often--but as much as you've grown, I feel like anything of yours would look silly on me, and, well, if you were going to go outside wearing that, you'd need to roll up the sleeves," he grinned, catching Fingon's wrist and folding up the sleeves so he could play the game without incident.

“True,” Fingon admitted. “I like how tall you are. But anything of mine you wear will look painted on.” He let Maedhros take charge and adjust his tunic until he was happy with it. “Of course, when I’m living here with you, I think this might become my preferred evening wear. I hope you don’t mind if I start wearing your lounge clothes. Letting me start Russ? Thanks.” Fingon kissed him and took a white piece from the side of the board closest to him, moving it.

"I--of course. What's mine is yours, arimelda. You needn't ever ask." He made the usual move in response to Fingon's first move, and as the game progressed he curled around Fingon more and more until he had nearly pulled his cousin into his lap.

Fingon sighed happily, even as he foresaw the end of the game in several moves. “This is… a very pleasant way to spend an evening Russ. Thank you.” He moved his next piece, leaning against his cousin.

"You sure you want to move there?" Maedhros said, now more focused on the game, but running his fingers lovingly over Fingon's skin, over his knees and arms.

Laughing, Fingon set the piece back in its original position and studied the board. "I will lose in the next nine moves. The move I almost made would only have made the inevitable occur earlier." He moved a different piece, leaning back to kiss Maedhros' neck softly. "Thank you."

"Oh--did you want it to occur earlier?" he asked wryly. The tunic Fingon wore was still tented obviously, and beneath his robes Maedhros began to twitch in renewed interest.

“I suppose I improve more when you let me linger on.” Fingon nudged Maedhros’ playfully. “Did you just want me to last longer to make your final victory sweeter?”

Maedhros grinned. "I just thought you might be interested in--well, never mind. I only didn't want to end the game early if you are enjoying yourself," he said, and kissed Fingon's cheek.

Moving another piece, Fingon glanced up at him. “I’m enjoying myself, else I would have conceded defeat over a dozen moves ago when I lost any chance of winning, provided you didn’t make an entirely nonsensical move.” He snuggled closer. “It’s fighting the long defeat, if you will. But it’s fun. Remember when you were first teaching me to play? I last a lot longer than I did back then. Perhaps someday I’ll catch you off guard and win.”

Maedhros laughed. "I'm sure you will. If we had played as I was at dinner you would have had me in twelve moves." He slid Fingon closer too him and tucked an arm around his waist, while he moved his rook steadily forward.

“Finally finishing me off?” Fingon made his next move-- the only move he could make. Maedhros would win when he moved his next piece. Fingon snuggled against him, closing his eyes and listening to the steady rhythm of Maedhros’ heart.

"I--" Maedhros said, reaching out, and then something clicked in him, as if he had decided something once and for all and now felt better about it. He knocked his king over, and it rolled until it rested at the floor of Fingon's remaining pawn. "I would much rather forfeit to you," he said, nervous, but solemn.

Fingon’s eyes flew open. “Russ?” he asked quietly. His voice shook slightly as he turned to face his lover, and his hand trembled as he reached up to tuck Maedhros’ hair back and trace along his skin.

"I, ah, I thought about last night. I would that you would--I would enjoy very much if you--I mean--" he huffed, paused to collect himself. This would be easier if--

He slid off the couch and to his knees. "I would not presume the manner, but, if it would please you, I would be honored if you would accept myself as gift, and take me and make me yours, as I have done with you, I think, many a time, and as, if I recall, you once requested we be equal in." He bowed his head, but his back was straight.

Flushing, Fingon felt himself react to Maedhros words and to the sight of him- his strong, regal cousin bowing before him. It was Fingon’s place; the first part of his speech could have been Fingon’s words. But Maedhros was right, and Fingon very much wanted them to be equals in this. “Nelyafinwë Maitimo,” he whispered. His hand carefully pet Maedhros’ head. “My husband to be. Tyë melin.” Fingon leaned towards Maedhros, unable to not do so. “Valar, Russ. Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?” he whispered. He cupped Maedhros chin, raising his face. “This is what you want?” he asked. “Ask me to stop at any time, and we will.”

"I hear you, Findekáno--but I will not. There is nothing you could do or demand of me that I would feel the need to refuse, so completely do I trust you. Please," he said, his body beginning to tremble.

“Think for a minute and give me a word that you will use if you want to stop- as I had your father name. But know that even if you were to forget that, just tell me you want to stop and we’ll do something else. I am glad you would allow me anything, but I do not wish to hurt you or to make you truly uncomfortable. I don’t want either of us to feel bad when we are together.” Then he straightened, and voice became firmer. “And do you think you’re doing enough? Kneeling and offering yourself to me?” He rubbed his thumb along the ridge of Maedhros’ cheek, voice softening slightly. “What you are offering is incredible, Russ. And believe me, I am aware how blessed and lucky I am. But I need to know what you want. Last night you implied you had planned to make me promise something-- perhaps we can start there. I would like you to tell me what you want, Russ.”

 

"But that was when you were yet ruled by me. I--there are a number of ways I might desire you to claim me, but I would not presume your pleasure. Since you demand a word from me, I name Telperion, but not because I imagine needing to use it." He paused. "I would do anything you demanded of me, anything at all to please you, Findekáno."

“Telperion, then.” Fingon squeezed Maedhros’ shoulder gently, then sat back. “You’re going to start this by refusing to answer a question?” He tsked. “There are many, many ways in which I am and will be pleased by you. But that is not what I asked. You wanted something last night. And tonight I want to hear more about it. If you still desire that, tell me more specifically what you want. Tell me what you were imaging when you gave me that small, shy grin and said you were going to make me promise.”

"No, no," Maedhros said quickly, heart racing. "I only meant--of course, I had thought, if you might like--if you would w-want to spank me?"

Fingon closed his eyes briefly, fighting against the desire to take Maedhros in his arms now, to hold him close and offer him anything. Instead, he grabbed Maedhros’ hair near its roots and used it to force his head higher. “I would like and certainly want almost anything and nearly everything with you. Tell me what _you_ want Russ. Do you want me give you a spanking? Do you think I should give you something you want if you cannot even ask me for it? Tell me what you want to do with me; what you would like me to do to your hröa tonight. You’re the strongest person I know, Russ. Surely you can answer a simple question.”

Maedhros stiffened, and whimpered slightly, and clutched at the sides of his robe so he did not raise his hands. And now he was looking Fingon in the eye and this suddenly became so much harder. "Yes, p-please. I would like to be--used by you, Findekáno, I-in whatever manner you would, without mind to my pleasure as much to your own. This is what I want. I want my strength to be as nothing."

Fingon urged Maedhros up, until he sat beside him on the couch. “Then I will take my pleasure from you before this night is out. And I will love you and care for your hröa, and you will be safe when you give yourself over to me and will have no need of strength.” He drew Maedhros in for a brief kiss. “But, and I asked this before, do you want a spanking, Russandol? Do you want me to put you over my knee? For me last night it was… it was intense. And amazing. I haven’t really cried in years, but last night… I could come apart over you and under you and it felt good. I never realized how much I wanted that or how good it would feel afterward. If you would like that tonight, ask me for it. Otherwise I’ll come up with something else.”

Maedhros took a careful breath. "Yes, please," he said. "I would like it if you--spanked me," he said, and though he flushed impossibly red, he didn't die on the spot, and felt better for having said it. Swallowing carefully: "And, and I would have you bind me. Please?"

Wondering how _he_ would last through this, let alone Maedhros, Fingon shivered. “Of course, melda. How can I refuse when you ask so nicely?” He skimmed Maedhros’ cheeks with his fingertips. “So red, already. Just like this afternoon. How long do you think it will take to get your rear to look as delectable?” He looked around the room before standing and pulling one of the armless chairs forward from the small table where Maedhros had originally started to set up the chessboard. Sitting down, he motioned Maedhros over. “Then I would like you across my lap, arimelda. Legs straight and head up. Can you do that for me? And after, when we move to the bedroom, I will bind your wrists together and let you relax and come apart under my hand. But first, I would have this.”

Maedhros nodded, throat dry, and approached reverently, his heart fluttering nervously. "Do--should I take off the robe?" he asked, hesitating.

“Leave it for now. I can get enough access for what I want just by flipping the back up.” He watched Maedhros, moving so carefully, already so unlike his cousin normally would. “Come on, across my lap, melda. I would have thee.”

Flushing again, somehow deeply humiliated (being partially clothed like this was probably worse than being entirely naked), Maedhros laid himself over Fingon's thighs (he was worried he was too heavy, and shifted to he was not lying on where the robe was knotted), and planted his feet flat and straight on the ground behind him. He could keep his head up, straightening his back, and he could, at this angle, lay his hands flat on the floor also. "D-does this please you?" he stammered.

“Aye. It does.” Fingon carefully lifted the back of Maedhros’ robe, folding it up over his back. He stared at the skin revealed to him. “I want you to stay as you are now Maitimo.” Fingon gently massaged the globes resting across his lap, before lifting his hand for a slap. It was not as hard as he could hit but was enough to produce a loud sound. “Good?” he asked.

Maedhros' muscles were locked down tight, and already he was wearied so stretched over his lap. He nodded, though he shoulders tightened impossibly more with the smack. "Good," he gasped. "Thank you." It was hard to breathe in this position, which added to the titillating nature of the situation.

“You’re very welcome.” Fingon briefly marveled over the red tint in the shape of his palm before drawing back. He let his free hand rest reassuringly across Maedhros’ back, and he hit him again, drawing a similar tinge on the far cheek. “A few more, then, to start. How many do you think, in one go, Russ?”

"I--I don't--know--" Maedhros began, but fearing the reaction if he did not or could not answer: "Ten?" he tried. "A-as many as twenty?" His head began to sink forward slightly, and he brought it back up.

“Fifteen to start, then.” Fingon caressed the skin in front of him. “Ready, Russ?” Maedhros nodded. “And if you want me to stop?”

"I name the silver tree," Maedhros responded dutifully, shaking in anticipation.

“Yes. If you ever want to stop, Russ.” He tapped Maedhros’ rear lightly, pulling back his hand. “Now, fifteen.” He started with five slow slaps, enjoying the blush of color that appeared each place he moved his hand to. Then he sped up, hand flying across Maedhros’ flesh as it tightened and relaxed under him. The last three he slowed again, pausing between each of them and finally laying the final swat across both cheeks, aiming for the flesh just above Maedhros’ upper thighs and hitting up at a slight angle.

At first Maedhros tried to bite down on every sound, but they very quickly began escaping him involuntarily, even after he bit down on his lip. The last three earned a long loud "Ohhh," and the muscles between his shoulders suddenly, somehow, relaxed. His backside stung, and was very hot to the touch, but he groaned in pleasure. "Mm-more," he said, before he realized he had said it. And he was already hard against Fingon's thigh.

“In a minute, Russ. I promise.” Fingon held his hand just above Maedhros’ skin, marveling at the heat that rose from the rosy flesh. “Valar-- you’re hot, Russ. Can you feel it?” Curiously, Fingon leaned down, pressing his cheek against the warm skin. “Beautiful.”

Maedhros whined at the contact, and bucked minutely, his hardness sliding free of the robe and against Fingon's thigh. He was almost embarrassed of it. "I--I can feel it. Feels--" well, 'good' would be a lie, though he did enjoy it, so, "hot," he said, lamely, and began shifting impatiently against Fingon now, as much as his palms and feet flat on the ground allowed.

“You’re doing so well, Russ. Now, fifteen more and we’ll move into the bedroom. Does that sound good?” Fingon clamped his hand around one of Maedhros’ cheeks, stilling him. “Try to hold still for these, alright Russ? When we get in bed I’ll tie you up and let you rub off on me, if that would please you.” He gently tucked Maedhros back into his robe, reveling in the flush that spread all the way around the back of Maedhros’ neck as he did so. Fingon hesitated, suddenly, and rubbed Maedhros’ back. “This is alright, isn’t it Russ? You know we will stop whenever you want?”

Maedhros nodded, sharply, a noise he couldn't control building up in his chest. He braced himself, exhausted already, and held his chin up (he also wasn't sure how he needed to come again, or how he wasn't going to come before Fingon said it was okay), and nodded that he was ready.

“Very good, Maitimo.” Fingon cupped his glowing skin briefly before bringing his hand down sharply. “Will you count for me, melda?” he asked. “When you get to fifteen we can get you out of that robe and move this to your bed.”

Damn it, Maedhros thought, because he wasn't sure he could do this without squeaking or crying, but he nodded, eager to please his Fingon. And once Fingon's hand fell on him he counted, his voice strained but clear. "One," he said.

A shiver ran through Fingon at the tension in Maedhros’ voice and he fidgeted slightly, having to force himself to keep his hips still on the chair. He lifted his hand again and landed it in another area, still glowing red from the last set of slaps. He hit slightly harder this time, and the sound filled the still room.

"Two," Maedhros ground out, and kept counting, breath hitching, and soon the counting was merged with the cries he wanted to make.  Tears sprang to his eyes and he wanted to lower his head but didn't.

Three, four, and five followed more quickly, the next blow falling as soon as Maedhros counted the previous one. Fingon breathed deeply through his nose, trying to control himself. He had been left wanting for too long- and the way Maedhros shifted slightly across his lap did little to help matters, nor did the firm pressure of his cousin’s desire, which only grew harder as the blows continued to fall. “Russ,” he whispered, filled with awe at his cousin’s reaction and demeanor-- at what his prince, his lord, his teacher and protector and betrothed was letting him do, had asked him to do, even. After the seventh strike, Fingon paused, and raked his nails slightly across his cousin’s glowing skin.

"Uhhh," Maedhros moaned, and he sounded and felt like a whore. And it felt _so_ _good_. "Please, Fin," he whined, shifting his hands, curling them into fists and pressing his knuckles to the ground. He was so out of his mind with pain and lust that he dropped his head for a moment before remembering, and snapping it back up.

“Keep counting,” Fingon reminded him, stroking his free hand across the top of Maedhros’ head, fingers running through his hair. “You’re doing so well. We’re almost there.” The next slaps were fast and even, focusing primarily at the area just above Maedhros’ thighs, as the tender skin caused his cousin to lurch forward slightly, hips pressing into Fingon’s lap temptingly. Then for the last four he slowed, hand stinging, and his lover’s voice trembled as Maedhros counted out the final blows.

Maedhros fell forward limply at the end, draping exhausted across Fingon's lap, hanging his head and shaking with need. He moaned softly and steadily.

Fingon gentled his cousin, running a soothing hand between his shoulders. Curiously, he trailed a finger down the small of Maedhros’ back and then dipped it lower, to the soft, unmarred skin between Maedhros’ cheeks. “You’re practically glowing,” he moaned as Maedhros’ hips twitched over him. “Alright, we should move. I promised you a bed and binding for your hands.” Fingon slapped the displayed skin, still offered up to him, and helped guide Maedhros to his feet.

Maedhros stumbled but got to his feet, feeling stiff, and the cloth of the robe brushing against his backside stung sharply. "O-only if you want," he mumbled dazedly.

“I promised you, Russ.” Fingon reached out to steady Maedhros, and lead him carefully towards the other room. His cousin moved slowly, the back of the robe tormenting his raw skin-- and Fingon remembered how that _hurt_. The front brushed against his arousal with each movement. When they were next to the bed, Fingon carefully untied the garment, easing it off of Maedhros’ shoulders and setting it across the back of a chair. “The cloth you used for me last night, where did you put it?”

Maedhros calmed somewhat at Fingon's touch, and was grateful for his guidance. He appreciated the robe being removed, and was startled out of his fog of lust when Fingon spoke. "Oh, it's--" he pointed at the robe. "It's the tie from the robe."

“Can you get on the bed, love?” Fingon asked. He glanced at Maedhros. Though his lover was trembling, he still seemed to be in control, nowhere near the level of desperation-- desperation wasn’t the right word; desire, perhaps, or pleasure-- Fingon had felt the night before. Not at that plateau where Fingon had been pleased and needing and sobbing. Where he was moving up into each blow and his entire world consisted of Maedhros’ hands on him and his lover’s voice in his ears. Where it was alright to let go and where it felt _good_ to cry and whimper because he _knew_ Russ was taking care of him and would continue to care for him. “Hands and knees first, I think.” He told Maedhros as he finished detaching the belt and, picking up a wooden brush from Maedhros’ table, moved towards the bed. “And then we’ll get you tied up like you wanted, and we’ll go from there.”

Hands and knees? _First?_ And what was he getting from the bedside table? Still, Maedhros nodded and shivered, shaken to his core (or what he thought then was his core), and got onto the bed and in the desired position, knees and hands planted firmly. His arousal was flat against his stomach, but Fingon--his eyes were drawn to him--Fingon's was an angry red. Maedhros wanted to take care of it for him. Well, what he really wanted was to be ordered to take care of it for him, or, better, that Fingon would just force his mouth open and--but he'd asked for so much already, and he wasn't sure he could ask for this. It defeated the purpose, didn't it? Or was he overthinking everything? Surely Fingon would take care of his own needs? Would Maedhros have to ask?

Fingon set the brush down below Maedhros’ feet and walked around to his cousin’s front. Standing next to his head, Fingon gently threaded his fingers into Maedhros’ hair and turned his face. “If you don’t like what I’m doing, what do you say?” His voice came out lower than he had expected, rough and almost gravelly. And he could feel Maedhros tremble under his hands.

"The silver tree," he rasped, almost impatiently, his eyes focused downward, on Fingon's hands, and on his sex. His entire body thrummed with need, but he locked down on every muscle, refusing to move.

“Good. Good.” Fingon moved closer, fingers pushing Maedhros’ mouth open. He could not be expected to resist, surely. Not with Russ here and red with his body practically begging. He pushed into Maedhros’ mouth, thrusting gently and then slightly deeper. Fingon let out a low moan, grip tightening in Maedhros’ hair. Then he pulled back, and the sound became agonized, but there was more than he wanted to do with Maedhros. “Fuck. Russ.” The words came out staccato, bitten off as he moved down the bed, picking up the brush-- he was fairly certain his cousin had not gotten a good look at it. “I want you so much it hurts.”

Maedhros was lost in the bliss of pleasuring Fingon, of _pleasing_ him, and marveled that they were not yet bonded but already Fingon knew his desires. So when Fingon withdrew from him he whined like a forsaken child, and words spilled unbidden: "No, no, please, wait, I've been good, haven't I?"

Fingon paused. “You’ve been very good, my Russandol. But I thought you wanted me to finish with this and get you back over my lap?”

"I--" Maedhros went cold, somehow genuinely terrified that he had angered Fingon, and he shuddered. "I don't--" he protested. This was too hard, he was too confused by his own desires, and he shook his head, looking down at the bed and feeling very vulnerable and not a little stupid. "Want what you want," he mumbled. "Please don't stop."

Fingon ran a hand tenderly over Maedhros' hair and back. “You know my hröa yearns for you. It would please me very much to finish in your mouth. Just as it would please me to continue working on your hröa until you are a sobbing mess like I was last night-- until you can let go and relax-- until your hröa involuntarily moves to ask for more of whatever I am doing to you. So, if you truly want to do something else, you need to ask me for exactly what you want, and then we’ll do as you wish. If not…” Fingon struck him once with the flat of the brush. The sound was easily twice what his hand would produce, and he could _see_ colors shifting on cousin’s skin where it had landed.

Maedhros yelped and rocked forward at the unexpected sting, and biting his lip, but when no more blows were forthcoming, he realized Fingon was waiting for him to speak. "Y-you've gone too long without taking your own pleasure," he blurted out, unable to look him in the eye. "If you demand me to name a desire, it would be that. And I would bear evidence of it. And then do with me what you will." He cringed. "I only--I don't--know," he shook his head and fell silent. The tears were back to stinging at his eyes, but he didn't know why.

“Shh.” Fingon shushed him, dropping the brush back to the bed and moving back to stand near Maedhros’ head. “If you take care of me, then will you be able to relax and just _feel_?” He pet his cousin. “Valar, Russ. Even now you would put me before yourself. I cannot possibly deserve you.” Fingon shook his head, taking Maedhros’ arm and helping him off the bed, positioning him so that he knelt on the floor. “Shall I take your mouth, Russandol? Will you let me take you roughly?”

Maedhros nodded, hungrily, eagerly. "Thank you, thank you," he whispered, letting Fingon move him, and calming, settling, feeling better here. "Please," he responded to the last request, and opened his mouth, begging.

Fingon moved his hand, slipping a thumb into Maedhros’ mouth and moaning as his lover took it in, teeth gently playing over the flesh. Grabbing the belt, he bent, watched Maedhros immediately move his wrists together and up, and he carefully tied them, repeating the knot Maedhros had used. Then he took Maedhros’ head in his hands and thrust forward, sinking into tight heat and indescribable vibrations. “Russ,” he choked out. “My Russ. I can’t-- the way you just _take_ me. Like I’m meant to be there…” He shook his head, whining lightly as Maedhros, carefully balanced on his knees, took him deeper.

The tie on his wrists only served to further calm him, and Maedhros felt himself slipping as into a trance: somewhere dark, and warm, and safe, where he could feel everything heightened, he could feel his hair growing, but Fingon was his only concern. Here he was perfectly contented, and from here he felt he could endure anything. Fingon in his mouth was like a gift, and he whined his appreciation, his tongue and throat working to be worthy of Fingon's pleasure.

Moaning, Fingon tightened his grip slightly in Maedhros’ hair. He did not need to yank or pull, and the strength of his grip was purely to ground himself. Maedhros responded to the slightest pressure, now, head moving and throat working as took Fingon again, and again, driving him quickly towards a finish that- Maedhros was right- Fingon had waited far too long for. Fingon gasped, trying to keep his eyes focused on Maedhros. “Russ.” His voice was adoring, almost worshipful, and he let go with one hand to trace Maedhros’ lips. “Valar, Russ. My beautiful Russandol.”

Maedhros was suddenly embarrassed that he could not respond with anything more than a moan, for his mouth was otherwise occupied, and yet he found himself almost glad of it, for he was too sex-muddled and contented to deal with words, anyway. And Fingon was so close he could taste it, and Fingon's fingers on his stretched lips was oddly erotic. He pulled back just enough to suck in air through his nose before taking Fingon to the hilt, tongue straining to lick at his sac, to bring him to completion deep in his throat, but not so deep he could not taste it, and he milked Fingon for all that he was worth, Fingon's pleasure settling comfortably in his chest like a job well done.

Fingon sobbed as he came, bowing over Maedhros as he tried to stand on shaking legs. He moved his hand from Maedhros’ lips to settle on his shoulder, helping to balance him. His other hand remained in his cousin’s hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp where he had pulled before, trying to sooth and to show gratitude in this small way for what Maedhros had given him. “Thank you,” he whimpered as Fingon worked the last drops from him. “Thank you.”

Maedhros sighed but did not answer, for he still held Fingon resting against his tongue though his sex had gone limp, just gently mouthing at the area like he never wanted it to leave his mouth. Indeed, he was comfortable on his knees between Fingon's legs, and almost could have fallen asleep here like a child with a pacifier.

“Bed,” Fingon whispered finally. He keened lightly as he pressed Maedhros’ back, and helped him to his feet. “Bed. Just- if you can wait I need to hold you, arimelda. Can we?” He urged his cousin onto the bed, and curled up behind him wrapping a leg over his lover’s thigh and an arm around his middle. Fingon buried his face in Maedhros’ hair and breathed.

Maedhros nodded, mind still fuzzy but still in that safe place he so craved. It was comfortable, too, being the little spoon, though he could never have imagined how the mechanics of it would work. But Fingon's limbs lay possessively over his body, and Fingon's breath was hot against the back of his neck, and his bound hands lay still in front of him, and his hardness ached distantly against him, waiting. He sighed happily, pushing back against Fingon lightly, just so more of their skin was touching.

Fingon rolled closer, pressing against Maedhros’ rear, which was still warm to the touch, and so incredibly soft. He sighed, blanketing Maedhros as much as he could. As he caught his breath and stopped shaking, he began to whisper to Maedhros. “Love this,” he said. “Love you arimelda. My perfect Russandol. My friend, my lover, my teacher, my betrothed.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Maedhros’ neck with each title. “Mmm. Could stay like this nigh on forever.” As they lay he brought the hand across Maedhros’ stomach down slightly, and it brushed against Maedhros’ neglected arousal.

Maedhros squeaked, having forgotten, apparently, what words were for, as Fingon's fingers brushed against his hardness, and he moved his hands and swallowed carefully. "Love you--love you, too," he forced himself to say. "Love this. Feels--good."

“Mmm. I’m glad.” Fingon lowered his hand to loosely wrap around Maedhros. “You feel incredible. So soft and so hard- like Noldorin steel wrapped in velvet.” He nipped at Maedhros’ ear teasingly, but gently. It felt almost as though they were underwater- everything slowed and every movement more intense. He wanted to bring Maedhros to the same contented state he was in, but he was not quite ready to think again or move. He was happy to worship his lover slowly, with teasing licks along the edge of his ear and a soft hand brushing along his arousal.

"Aahh-haahhhh," Maedhros gasped, undone far too easily by the gentle, teasing touches that made him break out in goosepimples and caused his spine to tingle, and the poetry that made his heart sore and his cheeks go as red as his backside. He writhed, unsure where to go or what he wanted (only certain that he did not want this to stop), and was glad of Fingon's leg over his and for the tie on his wrists.

“Want this forever, Russ.” Fingon felt a solitary tear sliding down his own cheek and he pressed himself tightly against Maedhros, clinging to him. “You’re the best thing in my life. You know that, don’t you?” He exhaled quietly, pressed his lips to Maedhros’ shoulder, and slowly sat up. “Are you well, Russ? I would keep my promise to you, and have you across my lap. If you would have that.”

Maedhros woke as one stirred from slumber into a waking dream. His limbs were uncoordinated and over-eager. "Please," he said, already moving to comply, his body needing this as much as he wanted it.

Fingon smiled at his lover’s enthusiasm, stroking his back and along his rear as Maedhros settled over him. “You really do like this, don’t you, beloved?” he asked, neither expecting nor requiring an answer. He kneaded the pink flesh, squeezing the round globes together and apart, and when he let them go he gently raked his nails down them once more. “Beautiful, my love. As well formed in hröa as you are in fëa.”

Maedhros hissed and whined, rocking into the touch even as his arched back told him he wanted away from it. His legs twitched, uncontrolled.

With a huff of laughter Fingon retrieved his brush, smoothing across Maedhros’ skin with the cool, polished wood. “More, arimelda?”

"Please, yes," Maedhros ground out, hating (and loving) that he was begging for this. His hips rocked forward against Fingon's leg like he was some sort of animal in heat. He felt not in control of his own body, and his heart raced in sudden fear.

Fingon felt Maedhros’ body tense, and stopped. He rubbed at the space between Maedhros’ shoulder blades, and lowed his head, placing a line of kisses along his lover’s lower back and then further, dotting them across his bright pink skin. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “Relax.” He brushed his thumb lower still, caressing the back of Maedhros’ sack. “This is for you, melda. Remember? And you’ve already taken me apart so thoroughly… and it was wonderful. Please let me give you this, arimeldanya.” He below gently across the heated skin, and then bent further and laid his cheek on Maedhros, pressing them together as best he could in their present positions while he waited for Maedhros’ answer.

Beginning to breathe again, harshly through his nose, Maedhros nodded quickly. "Yes, yes," he said, and relaxed his grip on the sheet below him. What did it matter if he had no control over his body? Fingon was here. "'M all right," he murmured. "Want this. Please."

“You beg so prettily,” Fingon commented as he leaned back, picking up the brush again. “You are truly a work of art.” He brought the brush down for the first time, and blow almost seemed to echo in the room, and immediately darkened the area where it had hit. Maedhros jerked on his lap.

"Ai! Ahhh-hahuuhhh," Maedhros yelped, then groaned, the sting drawing him to focus on his physical needs, which was now only one very urgent need. And since begging for mercy was so very close to begging for more: "Again. Please," he growled, hands tightening in the sheets again, his teeth grinding.

Fingon moaned softly. It was too soon- far too soon for him, but nonetheless his body tried in vain to rise at the groan in Maedhros’ voice, tone _demanding_ that Fingon continue even if the words were a plea. “As my prince commands,” he said softly. “And as my future husband begs.” He brought the brush down five times in quick succession, watching as the pink skin on Maedhros’ rear darkened to a light red. He paused, rubbing the back of the brush against him.

The contrast in temperature was what Maedhros noticed most keenly: sweat sprung up along his spine and the backs of his legs, and he shivered, but his rear was on fire--and the brush, when Fingon rested it against him, was like ice in comparison. "Ai, ai, ah," he said, but belatedly, after Fingon was finished striking him, and breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. He was never, never, ever going to sit down again. Also, it was doing strange things to his cock, as if every blow only filled him more.

Fingon began to strike him again, letting blows continue to fall until Maedhros’ rear and the very tops of his thighs were the same glowing bright red. When they were, Fingon dropped the brush, massaging the quivering flesh with warm hands. He touched him softly at first, fingertips barely brushing. Then he continued with firmer movements, enjoying the display of skin and the heat pouring off it. “Good?” he asked. His tone was that of one commenting on the weather, but immediately afterward he bit his lip, groaning as Maedhros shifted on him.

Maedhros was dizzy, and he felt slightly drunk. Through the fog of pain (which wasn't quite so impenetrable) and the fog of lust (which was) he recognized Fingon's voice, but he wasn't sure how to respond, and grunted something like a confirmation, and nodded. He blinked, and sucked in a breath, and realized suddenly that he was rocking against Fingon's thighs helplessly, needing relief. Also, his jaw hurt. "Need something to bite down on," he blurted out.

Fingon bit his own lip roughly. Harsh, and then gentle, he told himself. He pulled on Maedhros’ shoulder. “Up. Now.” When Maedhros was wobbling on his knees, Fingon stood, moving to where he had set his belt and boots, and grabbing up the belt. Walking back he could see Maedhros- bright red front and back, his arousal flushed deeply and his entire body submissive and willing and wanting. Fingon returned, motioning Maedhros to lie back across him. Carefully, he set the belt on the bed in front of Maedhros’ head where he could reach it if he needed. “Bite on that, if you need. But I would not have you stop the sounds you’re making-- you are more pleasing to my ear than any other music.” He ruffled the top of Maedhros’ head, and then turned his attention lower.

Maedhros nodded carefully, and with his bound hands clumsily grabbed the belt, feeling the worn leather that smelled so like Fingon it was delicious, and put it in his mouth. He made certain, however, to not hold back the noises Fingon wanted to hear. At the next strike he screeched, going up on his knees and elbows and slamming back down. He was close. Wasn't he? He had to be.

“Good, Russandol. Very good, my prince.” Fingon rubbed his extra hand along Fingon’s back. “Move as much as you want to, melda.” After several more blows he stopped, and Maedhros rose for the next one and was left wanting. Fingon hushed him, and moved his free hand to his mouth, sucking on two fingers. Easing Maedhros back down over his lap, he carefully inserted a fingertip before striking him again.

Maedhros' next moan was long and drawn out, his body torn between trying to relax to accept Fingon's fingers (yes, please more) and tightening in pain, torn between wanting to rise up to meet each blow and grind down to escape them. Oddly enough, the only thing that hurt was his cock. He needed to finish so bad, but wanted to wait until Fingon was through with him. He wanted to wait until Fingon had more fingers in him. He was leaving teethmarks on the belt, he was sure.

“One more, melda.” Fingon added the second finger between blows, slowly moving them deeper and scissoring them. This not something they did often, and he was conscious of their morning activities and had no desire to stretch Maedhros’ body past comfort. Easing them deeper, he pulled back, reaching under Maedhros to grab his arousal briefly. “You’re close, Russ. I’m going to keep going this time, and I want you to move however you want, and I want you to come above me and around me and for me. I love you, Russ, and I promise I’ll take care of you before, during, and after. I want you to try to let go of everything for me. Let go and finish.” Fingon began to rain blows down, keeping a steady enough pace that Maedhros could move up into the blows if he so desired.

"Fuck!" Maedhros swore loudly, and dropped the belt, and felt something snap free in him that had him rutting against Fingon's leg like nothing else mattered, and his hole felt very empty without Fingon's fingers and the brush _stung_ and it was horrible and wonderful and then he was over the edge, falling, bellowing, weeping with pleasure.

Fingon dropped the brush, and began using his hand, letting blows continue to fall as long as Maedhros continued moving, rocking himself through his completion. A soft whine escaped Fingon as his lover rutted against him. When Maedhros began to quiet and lay still, Fingon dropped his hand, massaging the hot skin as he waited for his lover to catch his breath and settle. Eventually, Maedhros’ breathing evened out. “Perfect, Russ. You are perfect,” Fingon praised. He threaded his fingers through Maedhros’ hair. “You know what comes next. You made quite a mess on me.”

Maedhros lay dazedly twitching, and started up in confusion, too many signals competing for his attention at once. "Fin?" he wondered, then-- "Oh," as he remembered, and stood on shaking hands and knees that he no longer knew how to work.

Fingon cupped Maedhros’ face as his cousin knelt before him. Concerned, he tenderly brushed aside tear tracks below both of Maedhros’ eyes. “Are you well, Russ? I can go wash off if you need to lie down.”

"No, no, please, I can--" Maedhros gasped, unaware even that he had been crying until Fingon brushed the tears away. "Sorry--" he went to wipe his face, but forgot about his bound hands, and aborted the attempt before he finished lifting his hands. His own seed was spread all over Fingon's naked thighs and the bed, and it was disgusting and humiliating and--and amazing. He managed even a noise of enjoyment, like he was licking chocolate from Fingon's skin.

Fingon sighed in pleasure, fingers running through Maedhros’ hair as his lover cleaned him, carefully balancing as he worked his way up Fingon’s thighs. He twitched in interest, body half-hard though he would not ask anything else of Maedhros this night. “So good, Russ. You undo me.” Fingon shook his head. “You complete me.” When he was clean, he pulled Maedhros back to his feet, and leaned forward to lick the last remnants of his lover’s seed from Maedhros’ body.

"Can I--?" Maedhros reached out shaking hands to Fingon's sex, seeing him twitch in interest.

Fingon caught Maedhros’ hands gently. “Only if you wish to. And after I’ve finished cleaning up. Right now I just want you to relax.” He helped Maedhros’ back onto the bed, and over to a clean area. Pulling back the comforter he eased Maedhros into the bed, on his side, and then stood with a groan. He shuffled to the washroom, more tired than he should have been, and came back with a warm, wet cloth to finish washing off his lover and the top of the bed. Then he sank down next to Maedhros, arm going around him. “How are you?” He brushed Maedhros’ hair behind his ear, and then skimmed his hand down until it rested on Maedhros’ bound wrists. “And do you want these undone?”

Maedhros lay still, shell-shocked and still twitching faintly. His backside was _really_ beginning to hurt, and he writhed slightly, smiling and reaching out to Fingon as he approached. "Good," he answered, and "Not yet," he added. He couldn't explain why, but it wasn't time yet. "Want you to hold me, please?"

“Anything,” Fingon swore, shifting closer to Maedhros. He wrapped his arms around Maedhros, and pulled himself closer to his lover until they were pressed together from feet to chest. “Anything, anytime, Russandol.” He nestled closer. “I love thee. Tye-melin, tenn’ ambar-metta.” Languidly, he brought their lips together in a soft kiss.

Maedhros drank in the kiss and the words, and curled against Fingon's warmth, feeling safe and protected by his love. Through this, in this position, he woke in stages, first physically, feeling the sting of his backside and the tie on his hands, and feeling exhausted and worn in his thighs and back and jaw, and then he woke mentally, feeling impossibly happy, and now very clear, remembering in detail what had, when he experienced it, happened through a fog. "I love thee," he whispered, tilting his head up to kiss Fingon's throat. Part of him wanted to be tied all night, but he supposed that would seem odd, so: "If you untie me, I would consider it an honor to take care of--" he lifted his head, looking down between him where Fingon was still hard, "that."

A tint of color entered Fingon’s cheeks. “I would not deny you anything you desired,” he murmured, leaned forward to kiss the tip of Maedhros’ nose. He paused with his hands on Maedhros’ bound wrists before he untied them, mind filling with doubts. “Russ?” He hesitated slightly. “I-- You always take care of me. Always. Am I-- is this enough? Am I taking care of you well enough in return? I would do anything for you, Russandol, I swear. But you always seem to… you know what I need, what I want even before I do. Even now.” His eyes clouded. “And I can't always do that. I try; I promise I try. Am I giving you what you need, what you want?”

"Ah, Finno, what a thing to say!" Maedhros cried, and instead looped his arms over the top of Fingon's head and pulled him close, kissing his brow. "Yes, a thousand times yes! I am sorry for not thanking you immediately. I am too private a person, even with you, and I am sorry. Here, shall I tell you how I felt, what you did to me?" He settled Fingon against his shoulder and looked up, drawing himself back. "I--no, you, you did this, Findekáno, you drew me to a place where I felt like I was lying in the palm of your hand, very safe and very warm and very protected. Here your tone was very important: your constant reassurance, your statements of love, and your clear and stern orders. Even when I felt lost and confused, your voice helped to ground me. And the physical sensations, ah, Fin! Well you know what they were--you perhaps felt them--the pain giving way to a euphoria." He shook his head and kissed Fingon's brow. "You know I do not trust easily certainly no one else to hold me as I gave myself to you. I was not disappointed. You did not let me fall. I enjoyed every second. Even now, though my arse smarts like hell," he added with a laugh. "Thank you, Fin."

Fingon blinked repeatedly to clear the water from his eyes. “You are welcome, Russ, though you hardly need to thank me- I surely enjoyed everything we did as much as you.” He snuggled against Maedhros. “It hurts, but it will feel… I think you will enjoy it in the morning. I did.” He looked up at Maedhros. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. Thank you. And I will do everything in my power to be worthy of your trust.”

"You already have," Maedhros assured his cousin, pulling him into a kiss. "Now--one thing you _can_ do is take note how completely your arousal arrests my attention. If it does not bother you, that is one thing, but I have a distracting desire to fulfill your need, to put it bluntly. How might I serve you, as your lover?"

Fingon smiled at Maedhros’ response. He reached behind him, tugging at the binding on Maedhros’ wrists until it fell to the bed. “Touch me, or taste me, or press against me.” Fingon rocked against Maedhros. “Bring me over the edge as quickly as you can. And then kiss me, and hold me to you. And tell me you love me and that I am yours and you are mine.” He shivered as he met Maedhros’ eyes. “Please.”

"Mm, I do so love it when you order me around," Maedhros grinned, forcing himself up on hands and knees and planting himself firmly above Fingon, leaning down to kiss him, nipping and biting along his skin. Once he was sure he could balance, he swept his arm down the length of Fingon's chest and wrapped his fingers around Fingon's stiffness, awaking it. "I especially love it when you give me orders I like to follow." He kissed Fingon again, and then kissed down his neck and chest until he took Fingon in his mouth. The taste of his own seed from before left a bad taste in his mouth, and he hoped to cleanse it. He did not tease, but gulped around Fingon to bring him to a hard, quick climax.

“Russ!” Fingon arched, back, hips and legs rising into the air as Maedhros engulfed him. “Valar, Russ.” He clutched at Maedhros. “Careful, now that I know you like that.” He exhaled harshly as Maedhros worshipped him with his clever, clever tongue. “Valar, Russ! I promise-“ he gasped. “Promise I’ll give you the orders I _want_ to give you now when we’re married. Through speech and thought I’ll order you, and if that fails beg you, to take me. To have me. To _fuck_ meRUSS!” Fingon threw his head back, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as Maedhros worked him.

"Love you," Maedhros said, pulling off with a slick pop and pumping him with his hand. "So soon, so close, then no power will keep us apart. You ready to come for me, let me taste you?" He asked, and took him deep again, using mouth and hands.

“Pleeease,” Fingon begged, shivers racing down his spine at Maedhros’ words. And at the thought of their future-- their bonding. “Please, Russandol, melda, arimelda, help me finish, make me spend.” He gasped the words, forcing his head up so that he could watch Maedhros at work. “Beloved, fairest and most beloved, please.” He was already close-- how could he be so desperate when not that long ago Maedhros had brought him to completion? And Russ had wanted orders, orders he would enjoy following. What he had suggested before they could not have yet, but there were other things…“Swallow me, Russ. I want your throat. Want to feel you rippling around me, trying to squeeze me down into you. And your other hand-- want it pressing the soft skin behind my sac-- ai! Russ!-- or further, p-pressing into me.”

Maedhros bent to the task, swallowing him deeply, until his nose pressed against Fingon's stomach, and then his tongue darted out to lick his sac, and his fingers joined in the stimulation, pressing gently inside him, using spit to slick the way. He groaned, and swallowed around him, and pressed his fingers deeper, rewarded by Fingon's spending deep and gloriously hot in his throat.

“RussRussRuss.”  Fingon spoke his name as though it were as important, as necessary to him as breathing. In truth he would lose a limb before he lost Maedhros, for the second loss would be the far greater maiming. Fingon shook his head, dispelling such thoughts, and pulled Maedhros up to lay over him, blanketing him. “That was…” He shook his head with a smile, wrapping his arms around his lover. One hand dipped lower, caressing Maedhros’ heated skin.

"I love you," Maedhros said, dutifully remembering his earlier instructions, and wrapping Fingon in his arms: "And I am yours and you are mine, and I love you." He grinned, kissed Fingon again. "That last one was for me."

Fingon laughed and trembled and he relaxed, safe in Maedhros’ embrace. “I love this. And I love you, Russandol. I am yours as you are mine.” He rubbed at Maedhros’ rear. “A question for you, arimelda. Last night I came across your lap and thought I could do nothing else. Your binding kept me on my knees long enough to clean you…” Fingon shivered. “But then you asked me to spend for you one more time. You asked me to put my stinging rear against the sheets and to let you bring me to completion again... Are you done for the evening, my Russ, or would you grant me that same pleasure, of just focusing on _your_ pleasure and, since you brought yourself to completion just now, getting to hold you and love you and take you in my mouth tonight?”

Maedhros bridled slightly, his eyes clouding in lust as he remembered. "I am so tired, Findekáno," he huffed. "But you know if you _demanded_ it of me, I think I could fly," he said with a shy smile.

“Are we still playing?” Fingon asked, looking at his lover with something akin to wonder. Maedhros _had_ to hurt. He had to be stinging, and Fingon was currently resting in his arms-- small and protected and cherished, and still Maedhros wanted him to give _orders_. “Then I would have you, as you had me, beloved. I would have you on your back, for I wish to cover you and to worship your hröa, and to taste you ere this night is passed.” He kissed Maedhros slowly, before backing away from his comfortable hold. He leaned over his lover, and when he found that Maedhros’ rear was flushed bright red but was not yet bruised and had no broken skin, he returned to Maedhros’ front and met his lover’s eyes. “On your back, Russ. Now.” 

Maedhros took a deep breath, and nodded, and moved to lie on his back, hissing as his tender rear contacted the coverlet. "Not playing, Findekáno," he whispered, resting his hands above his head, "I am ever your servant as much as your love--as you are mine. Only I think I might get something out of it that you don't," he said, looking down at himself hardening.

Fingon shook his head. “As you are mine _I am yours_ , Russandol. I… forgive me if I made you misunderstand back when were first together… and since then…” he shook his head again, looking away. “I am a failure at this. Forgive me, beloved. I _like_ when you give me orders.” He flushed at the admission, ducking his head. “And this,” he stroked Maedhros’ length, ‘is my response to it as well. I think I like giving you orders also, and I could not live with you _constantly_ telling me what to do, but… please don’t think that I did not get as much out of last night as I believe you did. Please don’t think that I haven’t enjoyed wandering around your family with my rear still stinging from your ministrations. And when I call you my Russ, or my Russandol, you should know that in saying that I am also saying that I am yours. For I am yours as you are mine. And I like all of that, including the first part of that. Being yours. And being able to please you.” He moved back slightly, and searched Maedhros' face as he stroked him. "Are you alight? Your… rear?"

"I--yes--" Maedhros whined, his breath hitching. "Yes, I'm all right. And I know. I know it doesn't only affect me this way." He grinned and fell back to the bed, holding Fingon's cheek in his hand. As his hips shifted he whimpered slightly: "I --ohh, I can't believe I did this to you," he gasped.

Huffing with laughter, Fingon followed Maedhros down, kissing him deeply before moving down, laying a path of kisses along his lover’s neck and chest. He worked his way further, still, dipping his tongue into Maedhros’ midriff, and finally, finally reaching Maedhros’ hardened length. “Beautiful,” he stated softly. “All of you is, truly. But this…” he darted forward, licking above his hand and tracing the rim and the tip of his lover’s arousal. He stroked Maedhros again, and the next time he leaned in took him slightly inside his mouth, pointing his tongue and poking at Maedhros’ slit before sliding his mouth down further, teeth scraping lighty. He glanced up at Maedhros as he did so.

"Uuuughhhh," Maedhros groaned, the pleasure mixing with pain as he writhed against the bed. "So good. How--how--" he didn't know how he needed to finish so badly, again so quickly. He fisted the sheets behind him and arched off the bed into Fingon's mouth, whimpering weakly.

Fingon’s eyes danced as a wicked idea came to him. He sank down over Maedhros, taking him to the root. When his nose brushed his lover’s skin, he slid his hands underneath Maedhros’ hips as they arched, so that his hands cushioned his cousin’s rear. When Maedhros sank back down Fingon swallowed, and he squeezed.

"Aiah!" Maedhros cried, folding over and grabbing Fingon's hair. "No, no, no," he whined, legs shifting, before he dropped back again, eyes lidded in lust. "Ah, Finno, fuck," he panted. "Finish me off, already," he begged, like he was begging for death.

Fingon kneaded the flesh for a moment, then carefully removed his hands. He caressed Maedhros’ sack with one, and reached up with the other to play across his cousin’s torso and chest. He brought his head up, panting, before diving back down as though he were starving for this, for Maedhros. And he was wet and salivating and messy, but his lover did not complain, and he so he continued. As he sank down deeply, Fingon looked up, hoping to meet Maedhros’ gaze-- to see him. To _show_ him how much he loved this.

Meeting Fingon's eyes while he sucked him off was somehow, after everything, the most erotic thing that had happened all night, and Maedhros cried out. Oh, it _hurt_ , not just his flaming backside, but also his cock--too much too soon, and every part of him was exhausted. But he was so close. "AiiiiFinnooooo!" he cried, and spent, still screaming.

Holding him through his completion, Fingon eventually let Maedhros slip from his mouth, knowing he must be sensitive. He pillowed his head on his lover’s thigh, trying to catch his own breath. “I love you,” he whispered. Everything felt good, felt right, and he could almost fall asleep right there.

"I love you," Maedhros murmured. "I love you, I love you, IloveyouIloveyoupleaseletmerollovernow--" he ground out, whimpering as he turned onto his side. "Ohhvvvalarfuck," he sighed, reaching out to Fingon. "Let me hold you, Finno," he said sleepily.

Fingon inched his way up the bed, squirming into Maedhros’ arms and pressing himself tightly to his lover. Glancing at Maedhros’ pained expression, Fingon reached behind himself for the pot on the bedside table with the soothing ointment Maedhros had been using on him. He covered one hand and moved it to Maedhros’ rear, carefully rubbing in the cooling cream. He half cringed at the heat that still emanated from his lover. “Is your side alright? You can rest on me, if you’d prefer?” Fingon yawned, settling against his cousin.

"No, I'm all right," he hummed, pressing a sloppy kiss to Fingon's forehead. After a moment-- "Oh, lights." He closed his eyes. "I don't even care."

“Russ?” Fingon asked softly. Maedhros’ eyes blinked open. “Thank you- for trusting me, for wanting me, wanting this-- for letting me… for everything. Thank you, beloved. I this was as enjoyable for you as last night.” Fingon shivered, and pressed himself closer to Maedhros, reaching down to pull up a light sheet. “Inyë tye-méla, Russ,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

"Thank you, Finno. It was. I l-loved this, love you." A pause, then, "Okay, no, I care," he said, and groaning, got up to turn off the lights. Also, he realized he was very thirsty, and drank two cups of water before returning with one for Fingon. Once it was empty he tangled their legs together and wrapped his limbs around Fingon, pulling the blanket over his cousin, though he expected his hot flesh would keep him warm. "Night," he murmured.

“Night.” Fingon snuggled against Maedhros, half asleep already, and his cousin’s arms wrapping around him were the last things he remembered before morning.

 

 

Maedhros woke in the middle of the night in pain. It startled him out of otherwise restfulness and perfect contentedness, and he frowned and groaned softly, the pain bringing with it a flood of memories of what they had been up to--all of them good and warm and well worth the pain he was in now.

But still.

Fingon was sound asleep, wrapped in his arms, head pillowed on his bicep, their legs slotted together. He looked beautiful, and so peaceful and content, breathing softly and, like this, bundled up to his chin with blankets, he still looked almost childlike, and not like the ner he was if Maedhros pulled down the sheets. Kissing him softly, Maedhros extricated himself, cursing softly (he wondered if he had scraped his sensitive and unprotected skin against the bed or blankets somehow, for it to hurt this much and this suddenly). He wondered if this was how Fingon had felt--and if it was, he would seriously have to consider doing this ever again--

The sight of his backside in the mirror startled him. It was flame-red in places, and almost bruised in others, from his thighs to his buttocks.

Maedhros spent the next few minutes or so bent at the waist under his shower, letting cold water just wash over him. He probably should have done this immediately, but it seemed to be helping now. He then snuck back to the bedside to retrieve the salve and retreated again to the washroom.

Fingon woke as he reached out to his betrothed and rolled into an empty space. He looked around him, worried until saw light coming from the slightly open door to the washroom. He stretched luxuriously- he could grow addicted to this bed alone- and when Maedhros failed to reappear he slid out of bed, slightly concerned, and walked over to the washroom to join his lover. He made his way to the door with a fond smile on his face, foregoing a sheet as he stepped quickly across the bare floor. When he looked in he froze, and it took several moments to understand what he was seeing because his mind was not ready to accept the image. He-- who counted Maedhros more precious than all the treasure of Valinor, had covered him with dark red blotches and swollen stretches of skin.

“Russ!” Fingon sagged against the doorframe, staring at Maedhros’ skin, which looked painful and bruised and _hurt_. Then his legs gave out and he was kneeling, looking up at Maedhros. “What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?” He realized he was quietly speaking the thought repeating through his mind and clamped his mouth shut. He forced himself to look up from where he knelt, meeting trying to meet Maedhros' gaze. “Oh, Valar, Russ. I didn’t realize-- I didn’t think-- I’m so sorry!” He was shaking, he noted distantly. “You’re _hurt_. What do you need Russ? How can I help you? Or…” his voice became quieter, fearful-- Maedhros hadn’t woken him up, hadn’t asked for his assistance. Why should he, when Fingon was the one to injure him? To do so after Maedhros had entrusted himself to Fingon’s care? “Or do you want me to stay away?”

Maedhros wheeled around. "Findekáno!" he cried, almost dropping the pot of salve before he set it down. He rushed to him and dropped to his knees, grasping him by the elbows. "No, never!" he answered to the last bit. "Oh, my darling Finno, never would I want you to stay away from me. I only didn't wake you because you were fast asleep." He pulled Fingon to his chest and kissed his hair. "It's all right, hush. I'm just not as tough as you, is all. It hurt, so I got up to take care of it. It's all right, I'm all right, shh," he soothed, holding Fingon and rocking him slowly, as he used to when Fingon was a child and had skinned his knee.

Fingon snuffled, brushing his tears away angrily. “Valar, I’m a horrible Edla, Russ. Ignore me. This isn’t about me. Except in that I hurt you. Oh, I-- Russandol.” He choked back a sob. “You’re tougher than me. You are. And I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I should have been more careful. And now you’re injured. You said you wanted to give yourself to me this evening and I was a thoughtless and neglectful and _abusive_ keeper.” Fingon curled himself into Maedhros, then pushed back suddenly. “You’re hurt! You shouldn’t be… on the floor. Please- I can help with the ointment, or finding you some trousers. Or a cool cloth-- I can get that. I can-- anything. Please tell me what you need.”

"Findekáno Nolofinwion, stop that!" Maedhros demanded, raising his voice and pulling Fingon to him tightly. "You did not _injure_ me," he said. "Nor are you 'horrible' or undeserving of forgiveness, and you are certainly not abusive. Hush yourself and calm down, or I will send you back to bed."

Fingon stilled himself, and clung to Maedhros. “But you’re hurt,” he whispered. “That’s why you’re out here. And now you’re on the floor worried about me.” He buried his face in his lover’s neck. “Please let me help. Please don’t send me away, prince.”

Maedhros brushed Fingon's hair with his fingers. "It's all right. It does hurt a bit, and I would appreciate your help very much, now that you're awake." He took Fingon's chin in his hand and turned him to meet his eye. "And you should know better than to tell _me_ not to be worried about _you_ \--ever."

Fingon bowed his head, unwilling to argue the point. At the moment he found himself incapable of arguing with Maedhros, no matter what his lover said. “Then, as perfect as your embrace is, can we get up and see to your… hurts? And if you are willing we can embrace once we’ve returned to bed, and be as one until we rise in the morning.”

Maedhros smiled easily. "That sounds lovely." Slowly, he pulled back from Fingon, but did not quite release hm, squeezing his shoulders. "Now you remember how you felt after this. It hurt, but you liked it?"

“I- I did,” Fingon replied hesitantly. “But… I don’t think I was quite so red. At least, it did not appear so when I looked over my shoulder. You look like you’re going to b-bruise.” Fingon closed his mouth on another apology that tried to make it’s way forth. “You haven’t put the ointment on yet, have you? It’s cooling-- it’s very, very soothing and relaxing. May I take care of it for you? And do you want it here, or I can turn on a light by the bed, and you can just lay down and I will put it on for you.” Fingon pulled himself to his feet and put out his hands to help his cousin up.

"Only what you put on before. I must have moved in my sleep or something, which woke me, and I needed to cool it." He took Fingon's hands and stood. "I think I would like it very much if you would do me the honor." He grabbed a pair of soft trousers and moistened them, and half put them on before lying facedown on the bed, watching Fingon carefully for his reaction.

Fingon smiled slightly, his face softening at the sight of Maedhros sprawled across his bed-- across what would be, for several months, _their_ bed. He walked to the bed and climbed in, carrying the ointment as though it were the most valuable item he had ever held. He settled himself kneeling at Maedhros’ side, and reached a hand up to run it through his lover’s hair. Then he began gently applying the ointment, working it into Maedhros’ skin with fingers that grew less hesitant as he continued.

A few initial hitched breaths soon gave way to sighs, and Maedhros stretched languidly. "Ah, Finno, that feels so wonderful. Thank you," he hummed. "I may fall asleep," he warned with a chuckle.

“Please don’t stay awake on my account, beloved.” Fingon leaned down to brush a kiss across Maedhros’ cheek. “You had such a long evening. And you were perfect through all of it. You can relax, arimelda. You can drift off and rest.” Fingon gathered more of the ointment in his palms-- it was soothing, and had helped to relax his muscles as well as taking away the immediate sting of reddened flesh. With in mind, as well as the incredible length of time Maedhros’ had been tense and needing- since before dinner that night and for almost all of the time following- Fingon began to work the ointment into Maedhros’ back.

"Ooohhhh," he moaned, eyes rolling back. "You don't need to--mmm--" he sighed. "That's--yes--please," he went on, suddenly breathless with the pleasure of it. Fingon's hands were--wonderful. "I want to sleep with you in my arms. If I fall asleep, wake me."

Fingon shook his head fondly, managing a smile and relaxing slightly himself as he focused on the repetitive motions of his hands. “It shall be as you wish dear prince, dear lord, my beautiful, perfect Russandol.” He spoke softly, the words becoming a mantra, as he finished Maedhros’ back and moved to an arm, beginning the same gentle treatment as he felt Maedhros sinking further into the bed as his muscles loosened. Yawning, Fingon moved to the final arm before, skipping his clad legs, he worked Maedhros’ bare feet with his hands, working the soles of his lover’s feet by rolling closed fists against them before continuing with open hands.

Maedhros hummed, suddenly, flinging an arm out. "With me, Finno, please," he mumbled against the pillow. "Want to hold you. Want--" he shifted, tugging up his trousers with Fingon's help, and he sighed at the cool contact. "Want you."

Immediately moving to his side at Maedhros’ request, Fingon curled himself against his cousin. “You have me. I am yours, always. Like this?” he asked quietly. “Or would you blanket me, Russ?”

Maedhros thought about it. "I would. As long as my wet trousers don't bother you," he huffed, crawling up and over Fingon, turning his face into his neck. "Love you, Finno. We'll talk in the morning, but never, ever doubt that for a second. I love you, and I trust you, and I love you. Sleep now."

“I love you always, Russ. Inyë tye-méla, tenn’ ambar-metta.” Fingon wrapped his arms around his lover, and slowed his breathing to match Maedhros’. Soon, without realizing it, Fingon had drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon: a lazy morning after a long night is upended by a pair of redheaded twin terrors pounding at the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Maedhros woke perfectly contented, and comfortable, the pain in his backside reduced to a steady ache, and Fingon's body, warm and breathing, safely stowed in his arms, was as paradise. He blinked his eyes open, watching Fingon snore softly, wanting to kiss his face but not wanting to wake him quite yet. It was only barely light outside. He liked to watch Fingon sleep.

Fingon woke much as he had fallen asleep--smoothly and gently and with little fuss. He blinked his eyes open slowly, and this time did not roll into an empty space beside him. Instead he was comfortably pinned down. He moved his hand slightly, caressing Maedhros’ back. “Morning,” he whispered, seeing that his lover was awake.

"Morning," Maedhros whispered, kissing Fingon's soft cheek, "You are so beautiful today," he grinned, squeezing to him.

“Reflected beauty, surely.” Fingon smiled, raising a hand to brush back Maedhros’ hair. “You glow, beloved. Are you well this morning?”

"Well? Perfect. I have you in my arms, and I feel--everything feels loose and comfortable after that massage. and no, my rear does not hurt overmuch." he kissed Fingon again and smiled. "I am so happy you are here. you don't need me to move any time soon, do you?" he grinned.

Fingon felt something loosen in him at Maedhros’ words. His cousin was fine--better than fine. Day had come and they were happy, and relaxed, and still very much in love. He shook his head. “No. You can stay as long as you wish; this is perfect. He embraced Maedhros warmly. “But… even if your skin isn’t bad, would you like me to grab the ointment? I can just barely reach it from here.”

"Later," Maedhros said, batting his hand down and pinning it to the bed. "I'm enjoying not moving--and enjoying the fact that we haven't been disturbed yet," he added with a laugh.

“I like this.” Fingon relaxed under Maedhros’ weight. “And that,” he added with a glance at Maedhros’ hand on his. “We’ll stay here, then. But… kiss me? Even just once.”

Maedhros grinned, leaning in. "Well why don't you just tell me when you want me to stop," he suggested, and kissed Fingon deeply.

Fingon moaned into the kiss, and yielded to it letting Maedhros lead him as he wished. “I won’t,” he breathed when his lover finally pulled back. “Ever. So I fear you must lead me in this, arimelda.” He let his eyes slip shut and smiled as he found himself surrounded by Maedhros’ weight and his skin and his bed and his scent. “This is perfect.”

"And I would gladly kiss you til the end of the--"

A sound at the door made Maedhros snap his head up. Soft knocking, and tittering. "Nelyo!" came a loud whisper.

"Finno!"

"Let us in!" 

Maedhros wilted. "I--I'm so sorry," he whispered, but waited for another knock.

"We want to sleep with you!" the Ambarussa stage-whispered louder.

Sighing, Maedhros heaved himself up. "Pull on some trousers?" he begged, going to the door, limping slightly.

Fingon rolled across the bed, grabbing trousers. He also grabbed the brush from last night, half-running to put it on the dresser, and moved the ointment to the washroom before diving back under the sheets. “Alright, ‘m decent Russ,” he said softly. “Ointment’s in the washroom if you need it. (Where it wouldn’t cause awkward questions if he did.) Are your trousers good, or do you need new ones?”

"They're fine," he replied. "They still sometimes insist on bathing with me--don't you, you little rascals?" he asked, throwing wide the door. But his brothers seemed uninterested in him and instead bounded to the bed, stifling their giggles with pudgy hands. Maedhros' bed was high, and they utilized their signature tactic: Amrod lifting Amras, and Amras pulling him up after. "Finno, Finno!" they cried, bouncing on top of him. "Good morning!"

“Good morning!” Fingon set a pillow higher against the headboard, sitting up as his cousins scrambled onto the bed. “And may I inquire as to your wellbeing this dawn, Ambarussa?”

“Good!” the twins answered in unison. Fingon laughed. “And do you have plans for the day?” he asked.

Amrod tugged on one of his plaits. “Yes?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Fingon nodded solemnly.

“Trouble,” he whispered, and both boys grinned at him unrepentantly. Fingon looked at his lover in slight concern.

"All right, you two. It is still early. Findekáno and I were resting," Maedhros said sternly, returning to bed. "If you want to stay, you'll have to be still." He wrestled Amras under his arm and laid down, pinning his brother between he and Fingon. Amrod pouted, but laid down, curled between Fingon and his twin, and began petting Fingon's hair.

Fingon smiled. “Rest,” he murmured, drawing up the comforter to tuck it around the boys. He smiled at Maedhros over their heads, and felt a pang--the ghost of a sense of loss for something that never could have been. Maedhros would make a wonderful father, he thought. We would be wonderful parents, if such a possibility existed for us. Then Amrod curled closer to him, and Fingon shook the thought from his head. He was incredibly blessed already. And he and Maedhros would eventually make perfect uncles. His smile returned.

Maedhros jutted his arm out to rest it in Fingon's hair, while his arm still curled around his brother. He smiled tightly at him, sensing--something, almost, a sadness, but not quite--and massaged Fingon's scalp with the pads of his fingers. 'I love you,' he mouthed, and scooted closer, pressing all of their bodies nearer. The twins, though wriggling, settled: Amras was playing with his hair, and his eyelids drooped.

Fingon pressed back against Maedhros’ hand lightly, biting back a soft moan as Maedhros’ fingers worked. His smiled widened at the words his lover mouthed, and he mouthed them in return, eyes bright. He saw Maedhros’ eyes close and felt his fingers still. Amrod was already calm next to Fingon, and Amras followed suit, tucking himself close to Maedhros’ side. Finally Fingon felt sleep calling as well, and settled into the bed, eyes drifting shut. He smiled as he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed our version of Fëanor finding out about the half-cousins' relationship! 
> 
> Since this was a short ending, we've also posted the beginning of the third and final installment of the "finds out" arc, in which Fingolfin finds out about his son's betrothal.


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